0104 The Devil's Snare

Harry and Ron seized the moment, pushing off with their feet and rushing out before the Devil's Snare vines could wrap around them tightly again.

Realizing they were safe, the two immediately turned back and shouted to Hermione:

"Hermione, stop struggling! The more you struggle, the more excited it gets!"

"Just stay still and it will let you go!"

"I can't do it!"

Hermione replied frantically, her voice already carrying a sob:

"Sherlock, I remember now! It likes dark, damp environments. Quick—get rid of it!"

"Dark and damp—"

Sherlock looked at the already flustered Hermione and couldn't help but sigh.

Her ability to handle pressure in emergency situations still needed further improvement.

"Incendio!"

As Sherlock recited the spell, blue flames danced and shot out from the tip of his wand.

The scattered flames carried scorching heat, and as soon as they appeared, they dispelled all the thick, ink-like darkness around them.

As the surrounding environment was illuminated, the Devil's Snare vines recoiled like they had encountered their natural enemy, retreating like a tide.

The vines that had been tightly wrapped around Hermione also loosened one by one, abandoning their entanglement with her.

Hermione, having regained her freedom, stumbled forward uncontrollably and fell directly into Sherlock's arms.

Although Sherlock caught Hermione, he felt something was strange.

Because even at this moment, Hermione in his arms was still trembling continuously.

Why was her reaction even stronger than when she encountered the troll last time?

A mere Devil's Snare—with Hermione's knowledge and courage, she shouldn't have been frightened to this extent, should she?

Harry and Ron exchanged glances, their faces full of confusion.

Although this plant was indeed troublesome, and it had nearly suffocated Harry just moments ago—he still felt lingering fear—Hermione's reaction seemed somewhat exaggerated.

After another moment, Hermione finally managed to stabilize her emotions and emerged from Sherlock's arms with a red face.

"Thank you."

She said softly, her voice as quiet as a mosquito.

Thank goodness Sherlock was there, preventing her from embarrassing herself even more.

However, Sherlock looked at her with a serious expression:

"My friend, you're still holding your wand in your hand—since you already knew that Devil's Snare prefers dark, damp environments, I believe you could have easily thought to burn it with fire."

"I did think of it, but I was thinking there's no firewood here—"

Hermione's voice grew smaller and smaller, becoming almost inaudible by the end.

Sherlock: (─‿─)

Harry: (•_•) |

Ron: (╯°□°）╯

The three wore various expressions, but finally Ron couldn't suppress his overwhelming urge to complain:

"Are you mad? Are you even a witch or not!"

"'There's no firewood here'—what kind of talk is that!"

Sherlock: ←_←

Harry: →_→

Seeing the three's expressions, Hermione clenched her fists tightly, her cheeks turning crimson, and said defiantly: "Go ahead and laugh if you want to, don't hold back."

As soon as she said this, Ron immediately burst into laughter: "Hahahahaha!"

He laughed so hard he was doubled over, unable to straighten his body.

Harry performed slightly better, covering his mouth with one hand, trying to hide his amusement.

Sherlock didn't laugh, but his gaze toward Hermione became increasingly strange, his eyes narrowing slightly as if pondering something.

Seeing Ron's continuous laughter, Hermione immediately glared at him fiercely, her eyes seeming ready to laser fire.

Under her stare, Ron's laughter gradually diminished, and he simply turned his back.

But from the way his shoulders kept shaking, it was obvious he was struggling hard to contain himself.

Seeing this scene, Sherlock shook his head, raised his arm to point forward, and said: "This way."

There was no need to spend time looking for a path, as there was only this one stone corridor ahead.

Sherlock led the way, with Hermione and Harry following closely behind, and Ron bringing up the rear.

The corridor was filled with a damp, moldy smell, and the walls were covered with green moss.

The four walked down the sloping stone corridor, with only the sound of their footsteps and water droplets slowly dripping down the walls.

The drip-drop sounds echoed in the silent space, like a monotonous melody.

At this point, Hermione had finally calmed down and asked, "Why did you come down without waiting for me?"

"Time waits for no one."

Sherlock, walking at the front, said without turning back, "We finally waited for Dumbledore to leave, and Quirrell definitely won't pass up this opportunity. Our goal is to draw the snake out of its hole—we can't really let the snake take the bait away."

He paused here, "We need muscle, so Ron came along too."

"Alright, you're right."

Hermione said glumly: "I still couldn't see Professor Dumbledore. Professor McGonagall said he had already gone to the Ministry of Magic—she didn't believe Quirrell would steal the Philosopher's Stone at all, and said not to spread words that harm unity—"

"Pfft~!"

"What are you laughing at?"

Hermione immediately looked at Ron with an unfriendly expression.

Ron coughed: "Nothing—I just suddenly remembered something happy."

Hermione glared at him fiercely and continued speaking to Sherlock:

"Professor McGonagall said that although she won't punish me this time, next time she'll not only deduct points but also give me detention—I've never had detention before, it's so embarrassing—"

"Pfft~!"

"Ronald! You've gone too far, I've been tolerating you for a long time!"

"I remembered something happy."

"You're clearly laughing at me, you haven't stopped!"

"Ron, Hermione, stop arguing—"

Harry's mediation had no effect until Sherlock spoke: "Quiet!"

He turned around, his gaze sweeping across the three faces: "All of you shut up, you're interrupting my thinking!"

The four continued forward in silence, their footsteps echoing in the damp corridor, the atmosphere was so oppressive it was almost suffocating.

Finally, they reached the end of the corridor, and a brightly lit room suddenly appeared before them.

Under the high, arched ceiling, countless birds as brilliant as jewels fluttered their wings, flying around joyfully.

Their gorgeous colors and graceful movements seemed to transform the entire room into a dreamlike world.

Having just experienced that dark environment, the four were momentarily stunned by this sudden sight.

After a moment, Harry murmured: "These aren't birds, they're keys that Professor Flitwick has enchanted."

There was a hint of surprise and realization in his voice.

Since Sherlock had done his homework beforehand, and this happened to be something Harry was good at, he immediately understood.

"But which one is the one we need?"

Ron couldn't help but ask.

His eyes were full of confusion—finding the target among these hundreds of keys was like looking for a needle in a haystack.

Hermione quickly walked to the door, bending down to carefully examine the lock, trying to find some clues.

"Um, I think it might be a silver key—and quite large."

She murmured quietly while observing.

"Catch!"

Just then, Sherlock had already grabbed a flying broomstick from beside the locked door and threw it cleanly to Harry.

Seeing this, Ron's face immediately lit up with excitement, and he said loudly:

"Harry, you're the Seeker—it's all up to you now!"

Hermione looked up in surprise, her eyes full of disbelief: "Sherlock, you've already found it?"

You know there were hundreds of keys here—even careful searching might not guarantee finding it. How did Sherlock manage it?

"Sherlock?"

Harry was equally puzzled. He was indeed a Seeker, but first he needed to see the target!

"Get ready."

Sherlock simply said one sentence, then quickly drew his wand and pointed it at the flock of birds: "Accio door key!"

The next moment, they saw a key shoot toward them like an arrow from a bow with a "whoosh."

Just as Hermione had said, this was a huge silver key, glowing with a sky-blue light and particularly conspicuous among the many keys.

As the key drew closer to them, its appearance became clearer and clearer.

Its wings drooped to one side, as if telling the story of its past ordeal.

They could even imagine it being caught and roughly shoved into a keyhole.

However, even though it was controlled by Sherlock's spell, it was still struggling hard, and its struggling speed was getting faster and its strength greater.

Obviously, relying solely on Sherlock's one spell to deal with this key was somewhat inadequate.

If they didn't take action soon, it would fly away.

After all, this was a mechanism personally arranged by their Charms professor—it was already quite remarkable that Sherlock could successfully cast a spell to summon it.

But Sherlock had anticipated this and arranged a backup plan in advance.

Harry now understood what he needed to do.

Although he was riding just an ordinary broomstick, he still demonstrated the skill of being the youngest Seeker in a century.

Harry squeezed his legs hard, and the flying broomstick suddenly accelerated, shooting out like a streak of black lightning.

Amid a harsh, unpleasant screeching sound, Harry successfully pinned the key against the stone wall.

Ron couldn't help but whistle, his face glowing with excitement: "Harry, well done!"

"Thanks to Sherlock's Summoning Charm, otherwise I couldn't have caught it so quickly."

Harry jumped down from the broomstick, excitedly using the key to open the door while saying without looking up.

"That's right, I thought we'd all need to ride broomsticks together to block it, hahaha—"

Ron was laughing foolishly when Hermione suddenly said: "Ronald, are you even a wizard or not?"

(￣ー￣)

Women sure know how to hold grudges!

Mates are better!

With a soft "click," the door was opened by Harry.

Almost the instant they stepped into the room, the previously pitch-black room suddenly became brightly lit.

The blinding light made them instinctively squint.

If it were just that, it would be fine, but after entering, they found themselves standing beside a giant chessboard.

Standing before the four were black chess pieces taller than themselves, while at the other end of the room were white pieces of the same size and shape.

"Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration—"

Harry looked at Sherlock somewhat gratefully.

Thanks to his good friend, he had mental preparation in advance and wasn't frightened into trembling when seeing these faceless, eerily terrifying chess pieces.

On the way here, Harry had briefly told Ron about the trials they would encounter.

So now he couldn't help but look at Sherlock and share his thoughts:

"It seems we need to play chess to get to the other room—Sherlock, what do you think?"

"Let's try first."

Sherlock pondered briefly, then cast a spell toward the white pieces on the opposite side:

"Confringo!"

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