Spells flew thick and fast, pummeling the keys swirling through the air.
From his hidden vantage, Professor Flitwick's face turned a sickly shade of green. He'd poured endless effort into crafting this clever challenge, only for these students to bulldoze it without a scrap of strategy. This wasn't puzzle-solving—it was pure demolition.
Keys clattered to the floor in heaps as the young witches and wizards whooped with delight. They seldom got to blast inanimate targets like this, and now they grumbled there weren't more to go around.
Even Hermione fired off a few curses, her eyes alight with uncharacteristic glee.
In moments, the chamber hung empty of floating obstacles. The lone broomstick hovered forgotten nearby. Harry Potter eyed it briefly, then averted his gaze with a wry grimace. Who knew shortcuts could be so straightforward?
Unaware of the uproar he'd sparked, Erwin mulled over an impromptu lesson in tactics. Little did he know, this escapade would force a total rethink of Hogwarts' annual trials, turning trials of wit and nerve into spectacles of raw power.
Pansy scooped up the biggest key from the rubble and slotted it into the wooden door. It swung open with a creak, and the group tumbled inside.
Rows of towering stone sculptures loomed before them—chess pieces, life-sized and forbidding.
One of the boys squinted. "Wizard's Chess?"
The others leaned in, confirming it: kings, queens, knights, all carved from unyielding stone.
"Professor McGonagall's handiwork," another murmured. "No one whips up giant pieces like these on a whim. Has to be Transfiguration—and only she could pull it off."
Nods rippled through the group. In the shadows, Professor McGonagall suppressed a pleased smile. Sharp eyes, these Slytherins. She found herself warming to them, half-wishing she could ditch Gryffindor for their ranks as Head of House. But Slytherin had Erwin, and Snape would sooner swallow his wand than let her poach his territory. She'd floated the idea once, only for Snape to vanish like a shadow.
All eyes swiveled to Pansy. She blinked. "What?"
"Did Erwin mention anything else?" Hermione pressed.
The others leaned in, hopeful. Erwin might be absent, but his shadow loomed large.
From his perch, Erwin stifled a chuckle, grateful for his lip-reading skills. This was better than any Prophet gossip column.
Pansy shrugged. "He said plenty, but most won't fit here. Still, remember how he snagged his Order of Merlin? Transfiguration's full of reversal spells. Check behind the Queen—there's a gap. That's our way through. Shrink her, or turn her into something smaller, and we're golden."
Agreements murmured. But doubt crept in. "McGonagall's spells aren't that flimsy, are they?"
A fifth-year stepped up—Erwin recognized him as a Transfiguration prodigy among the Slytherins. Like all great wizards, the boy had a knack for it, honed since his first-year triumph of match-to-needle. He'd racked up house points ever since.
He tapped the Queen's base with his wand, murmuring the incantation. A Disillusionment Charm shimmered over it for good measure.
Nearby, Professor Flitwick turned to McGonagall. "Think the lad can crack it, Minerva?"
She considered. "Unlikely. Erwin's insights make reversals simpler, but he's just a boy. His magic won't overpower an object I've enchanted—not solo."
Flitwick nodded, his own assessment matching hers.
Erwin could've predicted the flop without watching. These kids were too rigid. The Queen blocked the path—why fuss with reversals when smashing it would do? In the books, they'd played the game to win passage, but brute force? Far simpler. Breaking McGonagall's Transfiguration solo? Even pre-lottery Erwin would've struggled. And the Deputy Headmistress's work wasn't for amateurs.
Sure enough, the statue flickered—the head morphed briefly into splintered wood—then snapped back, solid as ever.
The boy grimaced. "Won't hold. Her magic's too potent; mine's not cutting it."
Frustration etched the others' faces. Actual chess, then?
Draco yawned from the sidelines, slouching against a pillar. "This is tedious. McGonagall must've been bored stiff to rig something like this. Why not just blast the stupid thing to bits?"
Under her Disillusionment Charm, McGonagall's expression soured. Snape edged away, wise to her temper.
Erwin blinked in surprise. Blimey, Draco—guts of steel! He had to concede: in sheer audacity, the boy outshone him.
But Draco's offhand gripe lit a spark. Hermione's brow furrowed, gears turning. Why wrestle a spell when raw force could clear the board?
McGonagall sighed inwardly. This veered wildly from her intent—a test of cunning, not carnage. But intervening to patch her oversight? Impossible without breaking cover.
Draco's words ignited the group. Eyes gleamed as realization dawned: one wand might falter, but a dozen? The Queen wouldn't stand a chance.
Spells erupted in unison—Reductos, Bombarda—chipping away at the stone. Cracks spiderwebbed across the Queen's regal form. With a final thunderous crack, she toppled, shattering into rubble that revealed the hidden passage.
Cheers echoed as they pressed on, dust settling behind them. McGonagall shook her head, a mix of exasperation and reluctant admiration. These Slytherins were resourceful, if a tad reckless. Snape smirked faintly—his house's cunning, twisted just enough.
Erwin watched, grinning. Draco, the unlikely hero. Even fools had their moments.