January's bitter chill seeped through Hogwarts' ancient stones, but in the cosy confines of his Hufflepuff bedroom, Chris barely noticed the winter's bite. Chris glanced at the small clock on his nightstand, its brass hands showing quarter past eleven. The Hufflepuff dormitory had fallen silent nearly an hour ago, his housemates long since surrendered to sleep, their soft snores and steady breathing creating a gentle background rhythm beyond his closed door. Perfect timing. Most professors would have completed their evening rounds by now, and the prefects would be finishing their final patrol of the night.
Beside the still-blank Marauder's Map lay his wand, its Yggdrasil wood gleaming in the lamplight. The Invisibility Cloak had been folded into a small square of shimmering silver. A self-playing flute, acquired through a discreet owl-order from a specialty shop in Diagon Alley, rested beside a small ebony box inlaid with silver runes, its surface absorbing the surrounding light rather than reflecting it.
"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," Chris whispered, his wand tip touching the center of the parchment.
Ink spread outward like veins filling with blood, thin lines branching and connecting to form the familiar layout of Hogwarts Castle. Floor by floor, the castle revealed itself, dungeons, ground floor, towers, and everything in between, populated by tiny labelled dots representing every soul within the ancient walls.
Chris's eyes immediately sought the Headmaster's office. A smile touched his lips when he found the circular office empty. Moving his finger across the parchment, he scanned the remaining areas where Dumbledore might be found, the Great Hall, the staff room, his private quarters, finding no trace of the Headmaster anywhere in the castle.
"Gone to the Ministry, or somewhere else, just as I'd hoped," Chris murmured to himself.
Next, he checked other key staff members. Professor McGonagall's dot appeared in her private quarters, likely preparing for bed. Professor Snape paced in his office in the dungeons, probably brewing one of the many potions he maintained for the hospital wing. Filch and his cat, Mrs. Norris, prowled the second floor, far from Chris's intended path. Professor Quirrell, or rather, Quirrellmort, remained in his Defence Against the Dark Arts office, the irony of Voldemort's host teaching defense was still not lost on Chris.
"Perfect," he whispered, his finger tracing the route from the Hufflepuff dormitory to the third-floor corridor. The path appeared clear of both staff and prefects, though he noted the shifting patterns of the castle's ghosts, unpredictable variables in any night time excursion.
Chris lifted the ebony box with careful hands, its weight surprising given its small size. This particular artifact had resided in the Ambrosia family vault for generations, a containment vessel designed to block all magical detection. Its interior expanded to accommodate objects much larger than its external dimensions suggested, while the silver runes carved into its surface created a perfect magical dead zone within. The Philosopher's Stone, once acquired, would be undetectable inside, even to enchantments specifically designed to locate it.
He opened the box to check its empty interior, a space of absolute darkness that seemed to swallow the room's light. Satisfied, he closed it gently and slipped it into an inner pocket of his robes.
The self-playing flute went into another pocket. Chris had practiced the charm to activate it multiple times in his apartment trunk, ensuring he could trigger it with a silent tap of his wand. The melody it played, a soothing lullaby from the wizarding world equivalent of nursery rhymes, would be perfect for lulling a certain three-headed dog to sleep.
Chris stood, draping the cloak around his shoulders. His body vanished instantly from the neck down, leaving only his head visible in the room's soft light. He checked the map one final time, confirming that his path remained clear and Dumbledore remained absent.
"Mischief managed," he whispered, tapping the parchment. The ink vanished, leaving behind an ordinary piece of aged parchment, which he folded carefully and tucked into his pocket alongside the flute.
With a deep breath, Chris pulled the hood of the Invisibility Cloak over his head, completing his disappearance. The sensation of being completely hidden, invisible, possibly even to Death herself, sent a thrill of power through him. In his previous life, he had read stories of Harry Potter's adventures beneath this very cloak. Now it served a new master, one with the knowledge and determination to reshape destiny.
He moved to the door, his steps silent on the stone floor. Tonight, he would retrieve the Philosopher's Stone months before Harry Potter would have discovered it, removing it from Voldemort's grasp entirely.
The castle's corridors stretched before Chris like the inside of some slumbering beast, shadows pooling in corners where torch brackets stood empty, portraits snoring gently in their frames. Under the Invisibility Cloak, he moved with the careful steps of someone who understood that invisibility did not equate to invulnerability. The Marauder's Map remained clutched in his left hand, its parchment glowing faintly in the darkness as he tracked the movements of the castle's few night time wanderers.
His eyes flicked frequently to the dungeons section of the map, where the dot labelled "Argus Filch" prowled near the Potions classroom, Mrs. Norris's smaller dot trailing close behind. Filch had developed an uncanny ability to sense students out of bed, even invisible ones, and Chris had no intention of testing whether the caretaker's abilities could penetrate the Deathly Hallow's protection.
"Stay down there, you miserable old squib," Chris whispered, watching as Filch's dot paused near Snape's office before continuing its circuitous patrol.
The Entrance Hall yawned open before him as he ascended the final steps from the basement. Chris checked the map again, confirming that the path to the third floor remained clear. Peeves hovered in the Trophy Room, likely plotting some new mischief, while the castle ghosts appeared to be gathered in the staff room for one of their regular meetings.
Hogwarts' famous staircases presented their own unique challenge. As Chris approached, one massive stone stairway pivoted slowly on its axis, grinding into a new position with a sound like distant thunder. He waited, calculating the optimal moment to step onto the moving staircase, then timed his ascent to coincide with its locking into place connecting directly to the third-floor corridor.
Chris moved swiftly upward, careful to avoid the trick step that had trapped so many unwary students over the centuries. At the top landing, he paused, ears straining for any sound that might indicate an approaching professor or prefect.
Only silence greeted him, punctuated by the soft whispers of portraits conferring with one another about the strange sensation of being watched by no one. Chris slipped past them into the third-floor corridor, where the atmosphere shifted noticeably. The air felt heavier here, charged with warning magic designed to create unease in students who ventured into forbidden territory.
A wooden sign hung on the wall beside the entrance to the off-limits section: "THIRD FLOOR CORRIDOR FORBIDDEN TO ALL STUDENTS WHO DO NOT WISH TO DIE A MOST PAINFUL DEATH." The dramatic warning might have seemed excessive to most students, but Chris knew better. Beyond the heavy oak door at the corridor's end waited a beast that could tear a grown wizard to pieces without effort.
Chris advanced toward the door, his footsteps muffled by both the cloak's magic and the thick layer of dust that suggested even the house-elves avoided this area. As he drew closer, a low, rumbling growl penetrated the thick wood – three distinct growls, actually, blending into one ominous harmony that vibrated through the stone floor.
"Fluffy," Chris murmured, reaching into his pocket for the self-playing flute. The instrument felt cool against his fingers, its enchantment dormant until activated.
He held the map close to his face one last time, confirming that no one approached his position. Satisfied, he whispered, "Mischief managed," watching as the ink faded from the parchment before tucking it securely back into his inner pocket.
The locked door presented no real obstacle. Chris drew his wand beneath the cloak, pointing it at the heavy iron lock.
"Alohomora," he whispered.
The lock clicked open with surprising ease, making Chris wonder again at Dumbledore's security choices. A locking charm defeated by a first-year spell seemed remarkably lax protection for an object as valuable as the Philosopher's Stone. Either the Headmaster had been overconfident in Fluffy's deterrent capabilities, or perhaps, as Chris sometimes suspected, he had intentionally designed challenges that Harry Potter might overcome.
The growls intensified as the door creaked open, revealing a stone chamber lit by flickering torches in wall brackets. The massive three-headed dog occupied nearly the entire space, its black fur bristling along three muscular necks as all six eyes fixed on the seemingly empty doorway. Each head was the size of a small boulder, with teeth like yellowed daggers dripping saliva onto the flagstone floor. Massive paws the size of dinner plates scratched at the stone as the creature sensed an intruder despite seeing nothing.
Chris remained still, realizing that while the Invisibility Cloak concealed him from sight, it did nothing to mask his scent. Fluffy's middle head sniffed the air aggressively, turning toward the door with alarming precision. The dog took a step forward, all three heads now focused in Chris's direction, red eyes gleaming with feral intelligence.
With steady hands, Chris raised the flute and tapped it once with his wand, activating the enchantment. A sweet, melodious tune began to play, the notes hanging in the air like visible mist. The music was a simple lullaby, but its effect on the massive beast was immediate and dramatic.
Fluffy's growl transformed into a confused whine, the tension in its powerful body visibly relaxing. The head on the left yawned first, enormous jaws stretching wide to reveal rows of teeth that could shred bone. The middle head followed, its ears drooping as the music wove its spell. Finally, the right head's eyes began to close, heavy lids dropping over bloodshot orbs.
Chris stepped fully into the chamber, maintaining the flute's melody as he circled toward the trapdoor he knew lay beneath one of Fluffy's massive paws. The creature swayed slightly, fighting the magic of the music, but its resistance proved futile. Within seconds, all three heads had succumbed to slumber, the beast's sides rising and falling with deep, rumbling breaths that smelled of raw meat and something wild.
With extreme care, Chris approached the sleeping behemoth. Fluffy had collapsed onto his side, mercifully clear of the trapdoor's location. The wooden door in the floor was smaller than Chris had expected, with an iron ring handle that had acquired a patina of age, suggesting it predated Fluffy's installation as guardian.
Still keeping the flute playing, Chris knelt beside the trapdoor and pulled it open. The hinges protested with a squeal that caused Fluffy's left head to twitch in its sleep, a growl building in its throat before the music soothed it back to deeper slumber. Chris peered down into the opening, seeing only darkness below. No ladder, no visible means of descent – just a black void that seemed to swallow the torchlight from above.
He knew what waited below. Soft landing, deadly embrace. The second trial would test him differently than the first.
With a final glance at Fluffy's sleeping form, Chris lowered himself into the trapdoor opening, his legs dangling in empty space. The flute continued its melody even as he released it, the enchantment designed to play for several minutes after activation. He took a deep breath, steeling himself, then let go of the edge.
He dropped into darkness, the flute's sweet notes fading above him as he fell toward Professor Sprout's deadly contribution to the Stone's defense.
Chris plummeted through darkness, the air rushing past his ears in a hollow roar. Just as panic threatened to surface, he landed on something springy yet firm, a mass that absorbed his impact with surprising gentleness. The relief lasted precisely two seconds before the Devil's Snare recognized its prey, tendrils of the magical plant curling upward to wrap around his ankles with surprising strength. In the dim light filtering from the trapdoor above, he could see the mass of dark green and black vines shifting beneath him like a living carpet, tightening their grip with each passing heartbeat.
"Relax," he reminded himself, forcing his muscles to go limp even as the plant's grip tightened. This momentary compliance bought him precious seconds as the Devil's Snare, sensing less resistance, briefly relaxed its attack.
In that small window of opportunity, Chris freed his right arm enough to reach his wand. With practiced ease, he pointed it upward and spoke the incantation clearly: "Lumos Solem!"
A burst of brilliant sunlight erupted from his wandtip, flooding the chamber with harsh white illumination that mimicked natural sunlight in both spectrum and intensity. The effect on the Devil's Snare was immediate and dramatic. The plant recoiled violently, its tendrils writhing as if in pain, curling away from the light source with frantic haste. Vines that had encircled Chris's body moments before shrivelled and retreated, drawing back toward the walls and exposing a stone floor several feet below.
Chris dropped through the suddenly unobstructed space, landing in a controlled crouch on the cold stone. His knees protested the impact. He extinguished the light spell with a quick "Nox" and took a moment to straighten his robes and ensure the Invisibility Cloak still covered him completely.
A single stone archway provided the only exit from this chamber, leading to a corridor that sloped gently downward. Chris followed it, his footsteps echoing slightly despite his efforts at silence. The passage opened into a chamber so tall that its ceiling disappeared into shadows, the space filled with a gentle fluttering sound like hundreds of birds in motion.
Chris paused at the threshold, taking in the scene. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of winged keys soared through the air above, their metal surfaces catching the light from wall-mounted torches. On the opposite side of the room stood a heavy wooden door with an ornate silver lock. A broomstick hovered at waist height in the center of the chamber, clearly provided for the purpose of chasing the correct key.
"Flitwick's challenge," Chris whispered to himself, remembering the Charms professor's reputation for precise, elegant spellwork.
He studied the winged keys carefully, noting their varied sizes, shapes, and flight patterns. Most were small and golden, darting about with erratic movements that would make them difficult to catch even for a skilled flyer. Chris smiled, appreciating the cleverness of the challenge while spotting its obvious flaw, it assumed the person seeking the stone would play by the intended rules.
His eyes located what had to be the correct key, a large, antique silver one that matched the style of the lock on the door. It moved more slowly than the others, as if it wanted to be caught. In the original timeline, Harry would have chased it on the broomstick, relying on his seeker reflexes to pluck it from the air.
Chris had a simpler solution.
"Immobulus," he cast, the freezing charm expanding outward from his wand in a wave of pale blue energy.
The effect was instantaneous and extraordinary. Every key in the chamber froze mid-flight, their wings still extended but motionless, creating a strange three-dimensional tableau that resembled a modernist magical sculpture. Hundreds of metal objects hung suspended in the air, the silence in their wake almost disorienting after the constant fluttering that had filled the room moments before.
Chris walked toward the center of the chamber, removing the Invisibility Cloak and draping it over one arm now that there was no risk of being observed. He located the silver key easily, its tarnished surface standing out among the gleaming gold ones around it. With a simple "Accio silver key," the object floated gently into his waiting palm.
Chris crossed to the door, inserted the key into the lock, and turned it clockwise. The mechanism yielded with a satisfying click, and the door swung open to reveal the next chamber. Before proceeding, he carefully returned the key and stepped back, cancelling the immobilization charm with a casual wave of his wand.
The keys burst back into motion, resuming their aerial dance as though they had never been interrupted. Chris retrieved his Invisibility Cloak, draped it over himself once more, and stepped through the doorway into whatever challenge awaited him next.
As the door closed behind him, Chris felt a growing confidence. Three challenges overcome, each more efficiently than Harry and his friends had managed in the original timeline. No panicking over Devil's Snare, no chaotic chase for flying keys, just calm application of the right magic at the right moment.
The next chamber loomed ahead, and Chris could already see the massive chessboard that constituted McGonagall's contribution to the Stone's defense. In the original timeline, Ron Weasley had sacrificed himself in a brutal chess match to allow Harry to continue. Chris had no intention of engaging in such dramatics, especially when he had the perfect tool draped over his shoulders to bypass the game entirely.
The chess chamber stretched before Chris like a vast cathedral dedicated to strategic warfare. Giant stone chess pieces stood in formation on a black and white marble floor, their faces blank yet somehow expectant, as though aware of his entrance despite his invisibility. These weren't merely enlarged versions of wizard chess pieces but masterworks of transfiguration, each knight's horse pawing restlessly at the marble, each castle's stonework detailed down to individual bricks, each pawn gripping its stone weapon with knuckles that seemed capable of flexing despite their mineral composition.
He took a tentative step onto the edge of the board, careful to remain on the black marble border rather than any of the playing squares. Nothing happened. The stone pieces remained motionless in their starting positions, seemingly unaware of his presence. Chris took another step, then another, moving slowly along the perimeter of the board.
A realization dawned on him as he observed the subtle magical energies pervading the room. The chess game wasn't activated by physical presence alone but by magical detection. The enchantment was designed to sense an approaching wizard and compel them to participate in the game, much like the compulsion charms on Quidditch pitches that prevented spectators from interfering with matches.
"The cloak," Chris whispered, understanding blooming within him.
The Invisibility Cloak he wore wasn't merely hiding him from sight, it was concealing him from magical detection itself. Unlike ordinary invisibility cloaks that simply bent light around the wearer, this Deathly Hallow provided true magical concealment, rendering him undetectable to the board's enchantments. It was further proof that he now possessed Death's own cloak, not merely a clever magical garment.
With growing confidence, Chris continued his circumnavigation of the board, maintaining a respectful distance from the imposing pieces. The white queen turned her blank face slightly as he passed, causing him to freeze momentarily, but she seemed to be merely adjusting her position rather than responding to his presence.
The door on the opposite side of the chamber beckoned, a simple wooden structure that seemed almost insultingly ordinary after the grandeur of the chess set. Chris reached it without incident, his movement around the board's perimeter completely ignored by the magically animated pieces. He turned the handle slowly, wincing at the soft click of the mechanism, but none of the chess pieces reacted.
"Remarkable," he murmured, appreciating how easily the Deathly Hallow had allowed him to bypass a challenge that had nearly cost Ron Weasley his life in the original timeline. The door opened to reveal a short passage leading to the next chamber, and Chris slipped through, closing it carefully behind him.
The smell hit him first, a noxious combination of unwashed troll, rancid meat, and something sulphurous that made his eyes water even before they adjusted to the dimmer light of the new chamber. When vision returned, Chris found himself facing the unconscious form of a mountain troll.
The creature lay slumped against the far wall, its granite-grey skin mottled with darker patches that might have been bruises or natural coloration. A massive wooden club rested on the floor beside one outstretched hand, its surface dented and stained with substances Chris preferred not to identify. The troll's chest rose and fell in laboured breathing, each exhalation releasing another wave of that fetid odour.
Chris skirted the massive form with careful steps, giving the troll a wide berth despite its sleeping state. Mountain trolls were notoriously unpredictable, and this one was easily twelve feet tall, capable of crushing him with a single swipe of its massive arm. The chamber itself was sparsely furnished, containing only the troll, its club, and a few shattered wooden crates that might once have contained its food.
"Voldemort certainly didn't waste any creativity on his contribution," Chris observed quietly, noting how different this simplistic challenge was from the elegant puzzles provided by the other professors.
He reached the door on the opposite side without incident, relieved to escape the troll's overwhelming stench. As he grasped the iron handle, Chris mentally prepared himself for what lay ahead. Next would come Snape's logical riddle with the potions, followed by the chamber housing the Mirror of Erised, Dumbledore's final and most sophisticated defense.
The chamber's temperature shifted dramatically as Chris stepped through the doorway, warm air pressing against his face like an invisible barrier. Before him, black flames sprang up in the archway he had just traversed, while ahead, purple fire blocked the way forward. Trapped between two magical fires, he stood in a long, narrow room containing nothing but a small table bearing seven differently shaped bottles arranged in a precise line. Beside them lay a roll of parchment, its edges curling slightly as though from frequent handling, containing what Chris knew would be Snape's logical puzzle, a challenge of mind rather than magic.
Chris approached the table, the Invisibility Cloak still draped around his shoulders despite the lack of observers. The bottles gleamed in the firelight, their contents varying in color and volume. Some were squat with rounded bottoms, others tall and slender, each one carefully positioned at precise intervals along the table's surface.
He lifted the parchment, eyes scanning the riddle written in Snape's spidery handwriting:
"Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,
Two of us will help you, whichever you would find,
One among us seven will let you move ahead,
Another will transport the drinker back instead,
Two among our number hold only nettle wine,
Three of us are killers, waiting hidden in line.
Choose, unless you wish to stay here forevermore,
To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four..."
The riddle continued with the logical constraints that would allow a careful thinker to identify which potions were which. Chris smiled faintly, appreciating Snape's contribution despite his dislike for the man. While the other professors had relied on magical obstacles that could be overcome with superior magical power, Snape had created a challenge that required clear reasoning, something many wizards lacked despite their magical abilities.
"Logic," Chris murmured, already mentally solving the puzzle as his eyes moved between the bottles. "The smallest bottle allows passage forward, the rounded bottle at the right end takes you back."
He picked up the smallest bottle, barely a swallow of potion was inside. In the original timeline, there had been just enough for one person, forcing Hermione to return while Harry went forward alone.
The clear liquid inside looked innocuous, like water but with a subtle pearlescent quality that shifted in the firelight. Chris removed the tiny stopper and sniffed cautiously, detecting notes of frost and something metallic, like the scent of the air before snowfall.
Without hesitation, he drank the potion in a single swallow. An immediate sensation of ice flooded his veins, as though he'd swallowed liquid winter. The cold spread from his core to his extremities, numbing his fingers and toes, then creeping up his limbs until his entire body felt encased in ice from within. Yet there was no pain, only a peculiar detachment, as though his physical form had become temporarily irrelevant.
"Fascinating," he whispered, his breath emerging as visible vapor despite the chamber's warmth.
Chris approached the purple flames, which still danced with apparent heat but no longer radiated warmth toward his ice-infused body. He extended a hand tentatively, then stepped forward with growing confidence as the flames licked harmlessly around him. The potion's protection carried him through the magical fire unscathed, delivering him into the final chamber.
The room was circular and smaller than the previous chambers, with steps descending to a central depression where a single object stood: the Mirror of Erised. Its ornate golden frame towered over Chris, inscribed at the top with the backward phrase he knew translated to "I show not your face but your heart's desire." The mirror's surface seemed to shimmer with something more substantial than mere reflections, as though it contained depths beyond the physical world.
Chris removed the Invisibility Cloak and folded it carefully over his arm. No need for concealment here in this final chamber. He descended the steps slowly, his heart beating faster with each approaching step. Unlike Harry, he knew exactly what the mirror did, how it functioned, and what dangers it posed to those who lingered before it. Yet knowledge did not immunise him from its emotional impact.
He stood before the mirror, bracing himself for what he would see. For a moment, only his own reflection appeared, a white-haired eleven-year-old with eyes too old for his young face. Then the image rippled, like a stone disturbing still water, and transformed.
Chris's breath caught in his throat. Before him stood the children he had lost in his previous life, exactly as he remembered them. His daughter with her bright smile and curious eyes that never missed a detail. His son with that determined set to his jaw that reminded Chris so much of himself. They looked healthy, happy, reaching out toward him with small hands that would never again grasp his own in reality.
His vision blurred as unexpected tears formed, and he felt a warmth in his chest that spread outward, melting the remaining ice from the potion. Whatever intellectual distance he tried to maintain from his emotions crumbled in that moment, the grief he typically kept carefully contained breaking free from his mental compartmentalization.
"I'm sorry," he whispered to the reflections that could not hear him. "I couldn't save you there, but I'll build a better world here."
The mirror-children smiled as though they understood, nodding with impossible forgiveness that Chris knew existed only in his own heart's desire. Behind them appeared other figures, himself holding hands with a woman whose face remained just slightly out of focus, prosperity evident in their surroundings, safety and happiness radiating from the scene.
After allowing himself another moment with the vision, Chris forcibly redirected his thoughts. He needed the Philosopher's Stone, not to use it himself, but to protect it from Voldemort, to return it to its rightful owner. He focused intently on this purpose, on his desire to find the Stone for safekeeping rather than personal gain.
The mirror image shifted again. His reflection now stood alone, older, his true 16 year old looking self, and smiling with satisfaction. The mirror-Chris reached into his pocket and withdrew a blood-red stone approximately the size of a small egg, its faceted surface catching impossible light from within. With a wink, the reflection returned the Stone to its pocket – and simultaneously, Chris felt a sudden weight materialize in his actual pocket.
His hand moved to his robe, fingers encountering a hard, warm object where nothing had been moments before. Carefully, he withdrew the Philosopher's Stone, its ruby surface pulsing with soft light as though it contained a captured heartbeat. The legendary artifact that could transform any metal to gold and produce the Elixir of Life now rested in his palm, secured centuries ago by Nicolas Flamel through alchemical mastery.
"Extraordinary," Chris murmured, turning the Stone to examine its perfect facets.
He reached into his inner pocket and withdrew the ebony detection-blocking box, its silver runes gleaming in the chamber's soft light. Opening the lid revealed that impossible darkness within, a space shielded from all magical detection. Chris placed the Philosopher's Stone carefully inside, feeling the box's magic envelop the artifact as he closed the lid. Once sealed, not even Dumbledore's most powerful tracking or scrying spells would detect the Stone's presence.
The mission was half-complete. Now he needed to retrace his steps, navigating back through the challenges with his precious cargo. With the Invisibility Cloak once again draped around his shoulders, Chris turned away from the mirror, refusing a final glance at the children he had lost. To linger would only invite the madness that Dumbledore had warned Harry about in the original timeline.
He approached the purple flames, which still blocked the exit despite his removal of the Stone. The rounded bottle from Snape's puzzle would provide safe passage back through the black flames, and from there, his path was clear. The unconscious troll, the chess chamber, the flying keys, and the Devil's Snare all lay between him and freedom, but Chris felt no concern. With the Invisibility Cloak and his knowledge, the return journey would be far simpler than the approach.
As he passed back through the purple flames, Chris felt a surge of triumph. He had altered canonical events significantly, the Stone would never be destroyed, Harry would never face Quirrellmort in this chamber, and Voldemort's plans would be thwarted months earlier than in the original timeline. The future was changing, one careful manipulation at a time.
The Hufflepuff dormitory welcomed Chris back just as the first hints of dawn began filtering through the castle windows, the soft golden light matching the burnished copper lamps that never fully extinguished in the underground common room. He slipped in through the barrel entrance, the Invisibility Cloak still secured around his shoulders despite the absence of witnesses at this early hour. His legs ached from the return journey through Hogwarts' twisting corridors and shifting staircases, but his mind remained alert, sharp with the knowledge of what rested in the ebony box tucked securely in his inner pocket.
Chris paused in the empty common room, listening to the gentle snores emanating from the dormitory tunnels. The Hufflepuff quarters remained blessedly free of early risers, even the most studious members of his house typically allowing themselves the weekend luxury of sleeping past dawn. He crossed the circular room with silent steps, past the overstuffed yellow armchairs and the eternally blooming plants that lined the walls, to the corridor leading to his private room.
Once inside, he secured the door with both the standard lock and an additional charm of his own design, one that would alert him if anyone approached. Only then did he remove the Invisibility Cloak, its fabric sliding through his fingers like liquid moonlight as he carefully folded it. The familiar surroundings, his four-poster bed with its yellow hangings, the worn desk beneath the circular window, the bookshelf crammed with both assigned texts and his own carefully selected additions, offered a strange contrast to the ancient chambers and magical obstacles he'd navigated throughout the night.
Chris withdrew the silver chain from beneath his shirt, enlarging his magical trunk with a tap of his wand. "Ambrosia Sanctum," he whispered, and the lid swung open to reveal the familiar wooden staircase descending into the warm, golden light of his hidden sanctuary.
The study welcomed him with its familiar comfort, leather armchair positioned beside a perpetually crackling fire, bookshelves lined with volumes both ancient and modern, the polished oak desk where he'd planned this very mission. Chris moved to the desk, opening the center drawer to place the Marauder's Map inside.
Next, he carefully draped the Invisibility Cloak across the desk's surface, taking a moment to admire the way it seemed to shift between transparency and a silvery, flowing fabric depending on how the light struck it. The Deathly Hallow had performed precisely as the legends promised, rendering him truly invisible to both physical detection and magical sensing.
Finally, he reached into his inner pocket and withdrew the ebony box with its silver runes. It felt heavier now, though whether from the Philosopher's Stone within or the weight of what its acquisition meant for the timeline, Chris couldn't say.
"Jilly," he called softly, infusing the name with the mental connection that bound house elf to master.
A soft pop disturbed the study's stillness as Jilly appeared. Though it was the middle of the night at Ambrosia Manor as well, she showed no signs of having been asleep, her appearance as immaculate as always.
"Master called for Jilly," she said, her gaze lingering on the ebony box between the map and cloak.
"Yes," Chris confirmed, lowering himself into the desk chair. "I've completed tonight's mission successfully. I've retrieved the Philosopher's Stone from its hiding place in the castle."
Jilly's eyes widened slightly, her only visible reaction to this extraordinary statement. "Master has acquired the Stone that creates gold and immortality," she said, not quite a question but seeking confirmation.
Chris nodded, opening the ebony box to reveal the blood-red stone nestled within its magically shielded interior. The Stone caught the study's light and refracted it in impossible patterns, as though its facets existed in more dimensions than the eye could perceive.
"I removed it before Quirrellmort could attempt to steal it," he explained.
"And now Master intends to return it to its rightful creator?" Jilly asked perceptively.
"Eventually, yes. I plan to contact Nicolas Flamel directly, but not immediately. The Stone needs to remain hidden until I can approach him properly, establish a relationship." Chris closed the box carefully. "Dumbledore will discover the Stone is missing soon enough, but he won't be able to track it, not with the protection this box provides."
Jilly nodded, understanding the implications. "Jilly will secure the Stone in the deepest vault at Ambrosia Manor," she said. "Behind the wards where only Master can access it."
"Perfect," Chris agreed. "This summer, I'll make contact with Flamel. I suspect he and Perenelle would make valuable friends in the future, and returning their property should establish the right foundation for that relationship."
He lifted the box and held it out to Jilly, whose slender fingers closed around it with surprising strength. "None shall detect it in Jilly's care," she promised, her tone leaving no room for doubt.
"I know," Chris said simply, the two words conveying complete trust.
Jilly hesitated, then asked, "Has Master planned his next move after securing the Stone?"
Chris leaned back in his chair, fatigue finally beginning to make itself known as the night's adrenaline ebbed. "The ritual to remove Voldemort's soul fragment from Harry will be next, but not immediately. I need to monitor to see if Dumbledore notices the stone missing first."
Jilly nodded, the box now tucked securely against her small form. "Master should rest. Dawn approaches, and even brilliant young wizards require sleep."
Chris smiled at the gentle admonishment. "You're right, as always. Take the Stone to Ambrosia Manor and secure it. I'll call if anything changes."
With a respectful bow and another soft pop, Jilly disappeared, taking the Philosopher's Stone with her to safekeeping far beyond Hogwarts' walls. Chris remained at the desk for a moment longer, his fingers idly tracing the folds of the Invisibility Cloak as he contemplated what he'd accomplished this night.
The Stone's removal represented his first major alteration to the canonical events he remembered from his previous life. Quirrellmort would find nothing at the end of those challenges, no opportunity to confront Harry, no chance to attempt resurrection through the Stone's power. Dumbledore's carefully orchestrated test for Harry had been disrupted before it could fully play out. That's only if Chris hasn't destroyed Voldemort first.
Chris folded the Invisibility Cloak and placed it in the desk drawer alongside the Map, locking them away with both key and spell. Thoughts for tomorrow, he decided. For now, he had earned a few hours' rest before Hufflepuff House awoke to a Saturday morning that, for everyone but him, would seem entirely ordinary.