Where is the Philosopher's Stone?

The six continued forward. At the end of the passage stood a heavy wooden door, carved with intricate magical runes.

Charlie was about to push the door open when a strange sound came from above.

"Flap flap flap—"

They looked up. Countless tiny black specks fluttered near the ceiling.

"What are those? Birds?" Harry squinted, trying to make them out.

Hermione shook her head. "No, those are keys. Keys with wings."

Sure enough, on closer inspection, the fluttering things were all sorts of keys, each with a delicate pair of wings.

"This door's locked tight." Fred tried pushing it. It didn't budge.

George pulled out his Wand. "Alohomora!"

The door still didn't respond.

"The Unlocking Charm's useless." George frowned.

Hermione pointed at the swarm of keys in the air.

"It looks like we need to find the right one among those."

"There's so many. How do we find it?"

Harry noticed several broomsticks in the corner of the room. "There are brooms over there. We can fly up and catch them."

"Hold on." Charlie raised his Wand.

"Why bother with all that?"

He lifted his wand and spoke the incantation clearly:

"Finite Incantatem!"

An invisible wave of magic rippled from the wand tip.

Instantly, every flying key lost its magical support. They fell from the air, clattering and scattering across the floor.

The room fell into silence.

Harry's eyes went wide.

"What spell was that?"

Hermione was too stunned to speak. She had read so many books but had never seen magic like this.

The Weasley Twins exchanged glances, disbelief written all over their faces.

"Finite Incantatem?" Fred's voice trembled slightly.

"Isn't that a spell taught in Seventh Year?" George swallowed hard.

They knew Charlie had taken down a troll.

But now they truly realized that Charlie's skill rivaled that of any Sixth or Seventh Year.

And he was only a First Year.

When they were First Years, they were still correcting their pronunciation so they wouldn't summon a wild bull and crush themselves.

Charlie calmly walked over to the pile of keys and quickly found the one matching the lock.

"This is it."

He unlocked the door and entered the room, but a doubt lingered in his mind.

These traps were way too childish. Could they really protect the Philosopher's Stone?

The next trap only deepened his confusion: a giant Wizard Chess board. Under Ron's command, they cleared it quickly.

Ron was beaming with excitement after playing his part. Even Fred and George gave him rare praise.

The next trap was even easier. A table held several potions and a riddle. The answer to the riddle pointed to the correct potion, which would let them pass through the flames into the next room.

Hermione solved the riddle in under a minute. The six of them shared the potion, drank it, and walked through the flames.

Charlie felt these traps were all far too simple.

Now, knowing someone was after the Philosopher's Stone, what would you do if you were its keeper?

A: Keep the Stone on you at all times.

B: Hide the Stone somewhere no one could ever find it.

C: Give up and hand it over directly.

D: Destroy the Stone so no one could have it.

Ha. The right answer was to put the Stone somewhere obvious, tell everyone not to go near it, and set up a few traps a child could solve.

Seriously. Who were they trying to fool?

Charlie stopped in his tracks, a sudden thought flashing through his mind.

These trials were far too convenient.

The Flying Key—Harry was a Quidditch Seeker; finding things in the air was his specialty.

Wizard Chess—Ron had been playing Wizard Chess since he was a kid, and his skill was among the best in the whole school.

The Potion Puzzle—a logic problem was child's play for a brain like Hermione's.

Charlie's expression twisted as he thought it over, the more he considered it, the more wrong it felt.

This wasn't some security system for the Philosopher's Stone—it was clearly a trial tailor-made for Harry!

"Could Dumbledore have designed this on purpose?"

He muttered to himself, then a far more serious problem struck him.

I just led them through and broke all the trials—Dumbledore isn't going to come after me for this, is he?

Damn it, is it too late for me to pack up and run tonight?

The group stepped into the final room.

At the center of the room stood a massive mirror, its frame ornate and exquisite, its surface shimmering with a faint silver glow.

Harry recognized it at once.

"The Mirror of Erised!"

Hermione looked at him, puzzled.

Harry explained.

"I haven't had a chance to tell you yet."

"Over Christmas break, Ron and I came across this mirror in the castle. It shows you what you most deeply desire."

The Weasley Twins immediately turned their gazes to Ron, their eyes sharp.

"Our dear little brother had something this good and didn't tell us?" Fred narrowed his eyes.

"That's just not right." George chimed in.

Ron shrank his neck, his face flushing.

"Don't just pick on me—you two never tell me when you find something good either."

"Oh, that really breaks my heart, Ronnie."

"Don't call me that."

As the Weasley brothers bickered, the others stepped up to the mirror one by one.

"Is it really that amazing?"

Fred was the first to lean in, his eyes lighting up instantly:

"Oh wow, I see myself finding the Philosopher's Stone, using it to turn anything to gold, and opening the biggest Joke Shop in the world!"

George shoved him aside in annoyance.

"Your dream doesn't even have me in it? Let me see!"

What George saw was almost the same as Fred, only the shop was bigger and the business even more booming.

Hermione stood before the mirror, seeing herself with perfect scores in every subject, leading Gryffindor to win the House Cup, becoming Head Girl, and creating a new Philosopher's Stone.

Harry still saw his parents—James and Lily waving and smiling at him.

Ron saw himself as the champion captain of the Quidditch World Cup, holding the Philosopher's Stone, with George and Fred kneeling at his feet licking his toes.

Oh, that was far too satisfying.

Hermione snapped back to reality, frowning. "Wait, wasn't the Philosopher's Stone supposed to be hidden down here?"

Everyone exchanged glances.

"Yeah, where is the Philosopher's Stone?"

"Could someone have stolen it?"

"Or maybe there never was a Philosopher's Stone?"

While they were all baffled, Dumbledore, standing invisibly off to the side, watched the scene with amusement.

Sometimes he amazed even himself with his brilliant ideas.

Hiding the Philosopher's Stone inside the Mirror of Erised, and casting a spell so that only someone who truly wanted the Stone—but had no intention of using it—could obtain it.

These young witches and wizards all thought about what they'd do with the Stone—open a shop, make money, fulfill dreams.

And that was perfectly normal. The Stone could turn anything to gold and brew the Elixir of Life.

Faced with endless wealth and eternal life, the desire to claim it for oneself was only human nature.

Even Harry, at this moment, might struggle to resist the temptation.

Only when Harry faced Voldemort, thinking to protect the Stone rather than use it, would he be able to take it from the mirror.

Dumbledore looked with satisfaction at the puzzled expressions on everyone's faces.

A slight change in plans was no great harm, as long as the final result met his expectations.

But the next moment, Charlie stepped in front of the mirror.

The Charlie in the mirror held the Philosopher's Stone and slowly slipped it into his own pocket.

The Charlie outside the mirror felt a weight in his pocket. He reached in and touched it—a stone, warm and smooth as jade, was lying there.

Dumbledore was stunned. For the first time, he felt things slipping beyond his control.

What was going on? Had his magic failed?

Debut tomorrow, starting the mass release!!