CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“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 — toward the Stone.”
Harry looked at the tiny bottle.
“There’s only enough there for one of us,” he said. “That’s hardly
one swallow.”
They looked at each other.
“Which one will get you back through the purple flames?”
Hermione pointed at a rounded bottle at the right end of the
line.
“You drink that,” said Harry. “No, listen, get back and get Ron.
Grab brooms from the flying-key room, they’ll get you out of the
trapdoor and past Fluffy — go straight to the owlery and send
Hedwig to Dumbledore, we need him. I might be able to hold
Snape off for a while, but I’m no match for him, really.”
“But Harry — what if You-Know-Who’s with him?”
“Well — I was lucky once, wasn’t I?” said Harry, pointing at his
scar. “I might get lucky again.”
Hermione’s lip trembled, and she suddenly dashed at Harry and
threw her arms around him.
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