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"Be warned, Potter -- any more nighttime wanderings and I will personally make sure you are expelled. Good day to you."

"What are you talking about?" said Ron, but Harry, sprinting across the grounds toward the forest, didn't answer.

But he hadn't walked five paces before a high voice spoke, though Quirrell wasn't moving his lips.

One among us seven will let you move ahead,

Harry felt as if Devil's Snare was rooting him to the spot. He couldn't move a muscle. Petrified, he watched as Quirrell reached up and began to unwrap his turban. What was going on? The turban fell away. Quirrell's head looked strangely small without it. Then he turned slowly on the spot.

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"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."

"So the Stone's gone?" said Ron finally. "Flamel's just going to die?"

Hagrid seized Harry and Hermione and hoisted them off the path behind a towering oak. He pulled out an arrow and fitted it into his crossbow, raising it, ready to fire. The three of them listened. Something was slithering over dead leaves nearby: it sounded like a cloak trailing along the ground. Hagrid was squinting up the dark path, but after a few seconds, the sound faded away.

"No, no, no," said Hermione. "No, we're not. Why don't you go to bed, Neville?"

"We'll just have to --" Harry began, but a voice suddenly rang across the hall.

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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

"Ron --"

"No, Harry, he has not. He is still out there somewhere, perhaps looking for another body to share... not being truly alive, he cannot be killed. He left Quirrell to die; he shows just as little mercy to his followers as his enemies. Nevertheless, Harry, while you may only have delayed his return to power, it will merely take someone else who is prepared to fight what seems a losing battle next time -- and if he is delayed again, and again, why, he may never return to power."

Harry made his way down to the end-of-year feast alone that night. He had been held up by Madam Pomfrey's fussing about, insisting on giving him one last checkup, so the Great Hall was already full. It was decked out in the Slytherin colors of green and silver to celebrate Slytherin's winning the house cup for the seventh year in a row. A huge banner showing the Slytherin serpent covered the wall behind the High Table.

"I don't know... sounds like wings to me."

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"But why couldn't Quirrell touch me?"

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The minutes dragged by. Their ears seemed sharper than usual. Harry's seemed to be picking up every sigh of the wind, every cracking twig. What was going on? Where were the others?

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He lowered himself through the hole until he was hanging on by his fingertips. Then he looked up at Ron and said, "If anything happens to me, don't follow. Go straight to the owlery and send Hedwig to Dumbledore, right?"

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"You can't!" said Hermione. "After what McGonagall and Snape have said? You'll be expelled!",

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"It's the full Body-Bind," said Hermione miserably. "Oh, Neville, I'm so sorry.";

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