Harry Potter 01 - Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone

softly, ‘it’s the only way … I’ve got to be taken.’
    ‘NO!’ Harry and Hermione shouted.
    ‘That’s chess!’ snapped Ron. ‘You’ve got to make some sacrifices! I’ll make my move and she’ll take me – that leaves you free to checkmate the king, Harry!’
    ‘But –’
    ‘Do you want to stop Snape or not?’
    ‘Ron –’
    ‘Look, if you don’t hurry up, he’ll already have the Stone!’
    There was nothing else for it.
    ‘Ready?’ Ron called, his face pale but determined. ‘Here I go – now, don’t hang around once you’ve won.’
    He stepped forward and the white queen pounced. She struck Ron hard around the head with her stone arm and he crashed to the floor – Hermione screamed but stayed on her square – the white queen dragged Ron to one side. He looked as if he’d been knocked out.
    Shaking, Harry moved three spaces to the left.
    The white king took off his crown and threw it at Harry’s feet. They had won. The chessmen parted and bowed, leaving the door ahead clear. With one last desperate look back at Ron, Harry and Hermione charged through the door and up the next passageway.
    ‘What if he’s –?’
    ‘He’ll be all right,’ said Harry, trying to convince himself. ‘What do you reckon’s next?’
    ‘We’ve had Sprout’s, that was the Devil’s Snare – Flitwick must’ve put charms on the keys – McGonagall transfigured the chessmen to make them alive – that leaves Quirrell’s spell, and Snape’s …’
    They had reached another door.
    ‘All right?’ Harry whispered.
    ‘Go on.’
    Harry pushed it open.
    A disgusting smell filled their nostrils, making both of them pull their robes up over their noses. Eyes watering, they saw, flat on the floor in front of them, a troll even larger than the one they had tackled, out cold with a bloody lump on its head.
    ‘I’m glad we didn’t have to fight that one,’ Harry whispered, as they stepped carefully over one of its massive legs. ‘Come on, I can’t breathe.’
    He pulled open the next door, both of them hardly daring to look at what came next – but there was nothing very frightening in here, just a table with seven differently shaped bottles standing on it in a line.
    ‘Snape’s,’ said Harry. ‘What do we have to do?’
    They stepped over the threshold and immediately a fire sprang up behind them in the doorway. It wasn’t ordinary fire either; it was purple. At the same instant, black flames shot up in the doorway leading onwards. They were trapped.
    ‘Look!’ Hermione seized a roll of paper lying next to the bottles. Harry looked over her shoulder to read it:
     
    Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,
    Two of us will help you, whichever you would find,
    One among us seven will let you move ahead,
    Another will transport the drinker back instead,
    Two among our number hold only nettle wine,
    Three of us are killers, waiting hidden in line.
    Choose, unless you wish to stay here for evermore,
    To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four:
    First, however slyly the poison tries to hide
    You will always find some on nettle wine’s left side;
    Second, different are those who stand at either end,
    But if you would move onwards, neither is your friend;
    Third, as you see clearly, all are different size,
    Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides;
    Fourth, the second left and the second on the right
    Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight.
     
    Hermione let out a great sigh and Harry, amazed, saw that she was smiling, the very last thing he felt like doing.
    ‘Brilliant,’ said Hermione. ‘This isn’t magic – it’s logic – a puzzle. A lot of the greatest wizards haven’t got an ounce of logic, they’d be stuck in here for ever.’
    ‘But so will we, won’t we?’
    ‘Of course not,’ said Hermione. ‘Everything we need is here on this paper. Seven bottles: three are poison; two are wine; one will get us safely through the black fire and one will get us back through the purple.’
    ‘But how do we know which to drink?’
    ‘Give me a minute.’
    Hermione read the paper several times. Then she walked up and down the line of bottles, muttering to herself and pointing at them. At last, she clapped her hands.
    ‘Got it,’ she said. ‘The smallest bottle will get us through the black fire – towards the Stone.’
    Harry looked at the tiny bottle.
    ‘There’s only enough there for one of us,’ he said. ‘That’s hardly one