The Plot Went Off the Rails After All

By the time Gavin reached the doorway, the little bottle on the table was empty.

He stood in the doorway, looked at the empty bottle, then at the black flames still burning ahead.

The flames licked silently at the air, stretching the stone chamber's shadows long and short.

His mind went blank for a beat.

Then he looked down at himself, up at the flames, and down again at the little bottle, where only a ring of dried black residue remained.

"Wait, I haven't even gotten on board yet?"

The room was empty. Harry had already gone through.

On his way here, Gavin had found Ron by the chessboard. After checking that he was all right, Gavin had pressed on. The earlier challenges seemed to have lost their magic, making the rest of the trip easy.

Farther along, he had run into Hermione in the corridor. She was hurrying out to find help.

Gavin had stopped just long enough to make sure she was all right before running on. Hermione shouted something after him, but the stone corridor swallowed her words in its echo.

Now he stood in the room Snape had designed, staring at the tabletop before bending to inspect the bottle, as if he could squeeze another half-drop of potion out of the glass by looking hard enough.

Nothing.

Snape was always stingy with potions. He made each one in the smallest dose the logic puzzle allowed, as though leaving even one extra sip would hurt his stores.

Gavin straightened and faced the black fire.

Wait for Harry to come out? The thought lasted half a second.

His mind supplied the next image on its own: not Harry emerging from the flames, but Quirrell, clutching the Philosopher's Stone while the noseless face on the back of his head