Not Without Me

Olivia Middleton's POV

We all sneak down to the common room after curfew, cloaked in silence and adrenaline. But as soon as we step in, I freeze. Neville's already there, sitting stiffly with his toad on his lap, eyes wide the second he spots us.

Before Harry can even open his mouth, Neville blurts out, "No, I'm not letting you go. You've already cost us enough points for Gryffindor!" I glance at Hermione, waiting to see what she'll do. She exhales sharply, her jaw set. "I'm really sorry to do this, Neville..."

"Petrificus Totalus."

Her spell hits him dead on. Neville goes rigid like a statue and crashes to the floor, arms pinned to his sides. My eyes widen in amazement—and, okay, a little pride. There's absolutely nothing Hermione Granger can't do.

Ron stares, clearly rattled. "You're really scary sometimes, you know that?" He looks at Neville, still lying there like a stiff board. "Brilliant... but scary."

I can't help but grin.

We throw on the invisibility cloak and creep through the corridors, quiet as ghosts, until we reach the door. My heart hammers in my chest. I lift my wand. "Alohomora."

The lock clicks open. We step in, and just like Hagrid said, Fluffy is there—massive and monstrous, his three heads snoozing under the charm of a softly playing harp.

But something feels off.

"Someone's already been here," I whisper. "Not someone, Liv," Harry replies, eyes sharp. "It's Snape. He enchanted the harp to keep Fluffy asleep." I roll my eyes. Of course it's always Snape with him.

Together, we start nudging one of Fluffy's enormous paws away from the trapdoor. Harry crouches beside it. "I'll go down first," he says, glancing back at us. "Wait for my signal."

But then—silence. The music stops.

Fluffy's eyes snap open.

All three heads start growling, then barking furiously. The room shakes. We scream. Fluffy lunges, pinning us back toward the wall, teeth flashing, the trapdoor completely out of reach again.

"Stop!" I yell.

Everything halts.

Fluffy's heads swivel to me, confused but attentive, like I've just sung a lullaby only he understands. He tilts one head, then another, and I step forward slowly. "It's alright, Fluffy. We're not here to steal the stone—we want to protect it, same as you." I soften my voice, calm and steady. "Please, boy. Let us through."

Like magic—well, it is magic—he relaxes. With a grunt, he shifts his paw off the trapdoor and lets us pass. One by one, everyone jumps in. I'm the last. Before I go, I reach up and pat each of his heads.

"Good boy," I whisper.

Then I jump.

We all hit the ground hard—right onto a tangle of thick, rope-like roots. At first, I think we've just landed awkwardly, but then the vines move. They twist around my arms and legs, tightening, squeezing, trapping.

"What the hell—" I start to yell, but Hermione's voice cuts through the panic. "Stop moving! You guys, this is Devil's Snare!" I freeze. I remember that name from Herbology. Hermione's voice is calm and sharp, like she's in control.

"You have to relax," she says, already going limp. "If you don't, it'll only kill you faster." She sinks right through the roots—and the moment I let go of my panic and do the same, so do I. "Kill us faster? Ohh, thank you, Hermione," I hear Harry grumble behind me. "Now I can totally relax." A second later, he drops through too.

But Ron... doesn't.

I land on a cold stone floor and immediately glance up. "Ron?" Nothing. Just muffled screaming. "Ron's stuck!" I shout, heart hammering. "He's not relaxing, Mione!"

We both pause, wracking our brains. "Devil's Snare... Devil's Snare, it's deadly fun—" I murmur like I'm reading out a riddle. "—but will sulk in the sun!" Hermione finishes, snapping her fingers.

I whip out my wand. "Lumos Solem!"

A brilliant flash of sunlight bursts from my wand, illuminating the room in a harsh golden glow. Above us, the roots recoil instantly, letting go of Ron, who tumbles down in a heap beside us.

He groans. "Phew. Lucky we didn't panic."

"Lucky Hermione and I paid attention in Herbology," I say with a smirk, "unlike some people."

Harry snorts. "Yeah, imagine following instructions for once in our lives."

We move on. Through the next door, a whoosh of wings greets us. Thousands of keys zoom around the room like silver birds, fluttering madly near the ceiling. A broom floats conveniently nearby.

Then it hits me—sharp, burning pain in my hand. I hiss and clutch it. "You okay?" Ron asks, brow furrowing. "Yeah. It's just my hand again—same spot as that night." The pain throbs, but I shake it off. Harry comes to my side, his expression shifting. "Liv, you don't have to come. Stay back, we'll handle this."

"What? And leave my best friends to deal with all this alone? Not a chance."

"Liv—"

"I said, I'm fine. And I'm coming. No arguments."

He doesn't try again.

We scan the flying keys until we spot one with a bent wing—just like the key to the trapdoor. Harry mounts the broom and after a few wild laps and close calls, he snatches the right key. We rush to unlock the door and slip inside.

It's dark. Then, the room lights up.

A chessboard.

I step forward, but Ron lifts a hand. "Alright. Harry, you take the bishop's square. Hermione, you're the queen's-side castle. And I'll be the knight."

"Wait—what about me?" I ask, frowning. He hesitates. "Sorry, Liv. There are only three pieces we can take... and your hand's still hurting. It makes sense you stay off the board."

I don't like it, but I know he's right. I step back reluctantly.

The game begins—and it's intense. Ron leads the moves with quiet precision, eyes flicking from piece to piece. Each time someone moves, stone figures clash violently, exploding on contact. My heart's in my throat every second.

Then we hit a wall. There's only one way forward.

"I'll have to sacrifice myself," Ron says, his voice tight but steady. "It's the only way through."

"Ron—" Hermione and I both cry. But before we can stop him, he charges. His knight slams into the queen and shatters. The opposing rook takes him down with a deafening crash. He collapses, unmoving.

"No!" I rush forward, but Harry grabs my arm. "Wait. The game's not over." He moves. The king is in check. Game won.

We sprint to Ron's side. He's out cold. My hand aches again, but I ignore it. "Come on, Ron," I whisper, brushing his fringe back. "You better wake up after all that."

"Take care of Ron and get him to the hospital wing," Harry says firmly. "Send word to Dumbledore. Ron's right—I have to go on."

"Fine," I say, stepping forward, voice like steel. "Hermione can take him. You and I are going through that door." Harry looks like he wants to protest, but he doesn't. He knows better by now. "You'll be fine, Harry," Hermione says gently. "You're a great wizard."

"Not as good as you," he replies.

She smiles a little, shaking her head. "Me? Books and cleverness? There are more important things—" She glances at me. "Like friendship. And bravery. Now go. You're both brave... just be careful."

We push through the door and find a staircase winding down into darkness, deeper than I can see. Step by step, we descend into the unknown. My hand—it starts to throb again, sharp and angry. I clench my fist, trying to breathe through it.

But by the time we reach the bottom step, the pain is unbearable. It surges through me like fire in my veins. I scream. My knees give out. The world goes black.

When I come to, I'm on the cold stone floor. Harry's voice is somewhere above me, shouting—but he's not close. Something's stopping him. I lift my head.

Flames. The whole room is lit up in fire—between us. He's on the other side, reaching out, trying to get to me.

Then a voice slices through the smoke. Cold. Unfamiliar. Wrong.

"Don't be a fool. Why suffer a horrific death, when you can join me?"

That voice. That voice. I don't know it, but somehow, I do. Voldemort.

"No, Harry!" I scream, dragging myself to my feet, clutching my burning hand. "Don't listen to him—he's manipulating you!"

The fire blocks my path. I don't know the spell to get through. I should know. I should've studied harder—should've—

But I don't run. I think. I stare into the flames and focus on what I want—to stop them, to reach him.

The fire parts.

Like it heard me.

I sprint through and skid to a stop beside Harry. "Never!" he yells at someone.

Professor Quirrell?

I blink. Quirrell? Not Snape?

Why is there a face on the back of his head? What the hell is going on?

"Bravery," Voldemort's voice sneers. "Your parents had it too. Look what it got them. But I can bring them back, Harry. We can bring them back. All I ask... is the stone."

Harry reaches into his pocket.

No. No.

We didn't go through all of this—for him to hand it over?

"Harry!" I snap. "Don't even think about it—he's just trying to break you. He's trying to twist your head!" Voldemort snarls, "Kill her." Quirrell turns to me. His hands are on me before I can move. One around my neck, the other casting something that makes Harry stiffen beside me.

I can't breathe.

His grip tightens. My vision blurs, darkens.

Black spots.

Then nothing.