The game started and Blaise and Ron started directing the blacks' moves. In the beginning it was a forced collaboration, with the two strategies that often were in stark contrast to each other, but when the white queen ate the other of their horses the differences immediately settled.
"Potter, move diagonally one square to the right." Blaise ordered, so as to get rid of one of the ruthless adversaries. Despite their efforts, the black pieces began to line up against the wall, as inert as puppets. Twice Ron noticed just in time that Pansy and Hermione were in danger so he started running from one side of the board to the other, eating as many whites as the blacks they had lost until, when their turn came, he stopped, watching Blaise thoughtfully.
"Don't worry," the other assured him, "I knew it would happen." and before Hermione could ask what it was about her best friend took a step forward and the white queen, whose faceless head would remain in Hermione's nightmares for a long time, hit him hard on the head with her stone arm. The boy crashed, Pansy screamed and Hermione started to run to help him when she was stopped by a trembling Harry: the game wasn’t over yet and a single misstep would be enough to make them lose, which meant letting Snape win. So Hermione watched Pansy carry out Ron's orders and the white king cast the heavy crown at her feet, decreeing the victory of the blacks. The pieces split again into two groups and bowed to each other, leaving a glimpse of the open door at the far end of the room. Hermione glanced desperately one last time in Blaise’s direction; he had been joined by Pansy, who was making sure he was still alive.
"I'll stay with him." she announced, taking the reins of the situation, "but someone should go back upstairs to ask for help."
"I'm going." Ron offered, and before anyone could say anything else, he had already disappeared into the key room.
"Are you sure he will be all right?" Hermione asked. Harry, for his part, hadn’t yet uttered a word and had taken on a greenish tint.
"He must," replied the girl, before urging them to continue through the next corridor.
"What else do you think we have to face?" Harry asked after a while, when the silence had become too overwhelming and she too was beginning to struggle to be alone with her thoughts and worries.
"Sprout has already played her shot with the Devil's Snare." Hermione commented. "And I'm sure Flitwick was the one to bewitch the keys, so McGonagall took care of Transfiguring the chess pieces and making them come alive."
"So we have to face only Quirrell and Snape’s obstacles.” Harry finished in her place. If the former didn’t worry her much, what the latter might have planned seemed much more dangerous, especially because Hermione knew well what was the fate of those who drank the Draught of Living Death or came into contact, even accidentally, with the Black Death Potion. Meanwhile they had come to another door, which Harry pushed open. Their nostrils were immediately invaded by a nauseating smell that forced them both to cover their noses with their cloaks. With their eyes full of tears they saw, lying on the ground in front of them, a monster even bigger than the one they had already dealt with, lying inert with a bloody bump on the head. It was only fortunate that they didn't have to deal it him too, but, as a Muggle saying said, luck is blind and she turned her back on them in the next room, where they found themselves trapped between two walls of flames.
"Look!" Hermione exclaimed, grabbing a roll of parchment placed on the table located in the center of the room, on which seven bottles of different shapes had been neatly arranged. It was evident that it stank of Snape, although it wasn’t like him to provide clues as evident as that charade. A couple of re-readings were enough to understand that the potion that would make them cross the black fire was the smallest, just as it took a quick glance at its contents to decree that it wouldn’t be enough for two, as it must have also deduced Harry as he asked her what would allow them to go back and told her to drink it.
"But Harry, what will you do if You-Know-Who were in there?" she asked, before drinking from the bottle she held in trembling hands. The mere thought that her friend could face that monster who hated those like her so much and who had killed his parents gave her goosebumps.
"I was lucky once, I could be again." he replied optimistically, although it was evident that he was frightened too. Hermione really hoped he wasn't wrong, or that could have been their last meeting.
The Great Hall was already full, festive parade with the colors of Slytherin, green and silver, to celebrate the fact that they had won the cup for the seventh year in a row, and an immense banner with the snake covered the wall behind the table of the teachers. When Harry entered there was a sudden silence, then everyone started talking loudly. He slipped into a vacant spot left between Ron and his brother Fred and Hermione waved to him from Slytherin's table, soon imitated by Pansy and Blaise, who now sported a fresh scar on his shaved head. A few moments later Dumbledore arrived and even the slightest buzz extinguished.
"Another year has passed," he began cheerfully "and I have to bore you with a chat as every old man before we can sink our teeth into our delicious delicacies. What a year this has been! Hopefully you’re heads are a little less empty than when you arrived, and now you have a whole summer ahead of you to return to empty them before a new year begins. But now, if I understood correctly,” he continued “the House Cup must be assigned and the ranking is Gryffindor in fourth place with three hundred and twelve points, third Hufflepuff with three hundred and fifty two, then Ravenclaw with four hundred twenty-six and first Slytherin, with four hundred and seventy two.”
A roar of ovations and clapping exploded from Slytherin's table and Blaise began to knock his glass against the wooden table, soon imitated by Nott and Pucey, which Hermione tried not to look at, despite the fact that he didn’t take his sad eyes off her.
"Very well, Slytherin." Dumbledore continued. "But there are some recent events that need to be considered."
The room sank into absolute silence, everyone wanted to know the truth about what had happened and although Hermione already knew she was curious to know how it could change the ranking. Dumbledore awarded Ron and Blaise fifty points each and for the first time Gryffindor and Slytherin’s applause rang in unison reaching almost the enchanted ceiling with the stars that seemed to quiver with the same excitement of the students. When the room finally silenced again it was Hermione's turn, who was awarded fifty points for having coldly used logic before the fire and finally he rewarded Harry with sixty points for his cold blood and exceptional courage. Hermione didn’t complain but she believed Harry deserved much more for what he had done, especially because Voldemort was a wizard many adults even refused to say the name. However, the noise was deafening. Those who had managed to do the math while screaming loudly knew that Gryffindor had reached four hundred and twenty-two points, passing Hufflepuff. If only Dumbledore had given Harry five more points they would’ve passed Ravenclaw and would’ve been second, which would still have been a milestone, given the poor results Gryffindor had encountered in previous years. Then Dumbledore raised his hand, a sign that he hadn’t yet unexpectedly finished and slowly the room became silent again.
"There are many types of courage," he said smiling. "Confronting the enemies requires considerable boldness but the same is needed to face friends. Therefore I attribute ten points to Neville Longbottom."
Hermione looked at her friend, who seemed to have been chased by a Bludger, while Ron became paler and paler. There were stories she didn't know, and for the first time she was sure it wasn't necessary to.
JK Rowling has recently revealed that Quirrell was never possessed by Voldemort after all. Quirrell has in fact died during his travels abroad, before Harry's first year. Unable to find a new DADA teacher, Dumbledore had two house elves impersonate Quirrell by standing on top of each other's shoulders. After too many people had heard the house elves arguing and become suspicious, Dumbledore bewitched Harry to believe he had fought off Quirrell, and spread the rumor that Voldemort had possessed him. In fact, the obstacle course did not lead up to the Philosopher's Stone, but to the rehearsal room of Dumbledore's and Snape's garage band.
i wonder, if i went back in time to when jkr was writing philosopher's stone and told her that years later people would be writing stories about quirrell and voldemort as a couple, what she'd think
