About a week before the exams were set to begin, Harry found himself facing an unforeseen challenge that put his newfound resolution not to interfere with the test. While his friends diligently studied in the library, immersing themselves in books and preparing for the upcoming exams, Harry decided to take a break and step out into the corridor.

As he made his way down the dimly lit hallway, a soft whimpering caught his attention, echoing from a nearby classroom. Curiosity getting the better of him, Harry approached the classroom cautiously, straining to listen. He quietly approached the door. As he pressed his ear against the door, the muffled voice grew clearer, and he realized it was Quirrell's voice filled with distress.

"No, no, not again, please…" Quirrell's trembling voice pleaded as if someone was tormenting him. The desperation in his tone sent a chill down Harry's spine, deepening his concern.

Standing there for what seemed to be an eternity, array tried to make sense of what Quirrell was speaking, but alas to no concrete result. "All right, all right …" That was the last thing he heard Quirrell sob.

The next second, Quirrell came hurrying out of the classroom, straightening his turban. He was pale and looked as though he was about to cry. He strode out of sight, leaving the door of the classroom open. Harry didn't think Quirrell had even noticed him standing beside the door. However, for any eventuality, he waited until Quirrell's footsteps had disappeared, then peered into the classroom. It was empty, but a door stood ajar at the other end. Harry was halfway towards it before he remembered what he'd promised himself about not meddling.

Shaking his head, Harry quickly run away, making his way back to the library where Thomas and his friends were revising their notes. As he approached the table where his friends were diligently studying, a mix of worry and confusion clouded his expression, an expression that Thomas quickly noticed.

"Harry, what's wrong?" Thomas asked, his voice filled with genuine concern. Ron, Hermione, James, Adam, and Michael all turned their attention to Harry, sensing that something was amiss.

Harry took a deep breath, trying to compose himself before responding. "I... I overheard Quirrell in a classroom. He was in distress, pleading for someone to stop, saying 'not again'."

The room fell silent as Harry's words hung in the air, the weight of the situation sinking in. Hermione's eyes widened with alarm, while James, Adam, and Michael exchanged worried glances.

"What do you think he meant by 'not again'?" James questioned, his brow furrowed.

Harry shrugged, his mind still reeling from the encounter. "I'm not sure. But it seemed like someone or something was tormenting him. Quirrell looked terrified as if he was being forced to do something against his will."

"Snape's done it, then!" said Ron. "If Quirrell's told him how to break his Anti-Dark Force spell …"

"There's still Fluffy, though," said Hermione.

"Maybe Snape's found out how to get past him without asking Hagrid," said Ron, looking up at the thousands of books surrounding them. "I bet there's a book somewhere in here, telling you how to get past a giant three-headed dog. So what do we do, guys?"

The light of adventure was kindling again in Ron's eyes, but Hermione answered before any of the boys could. "We should go to Dumbledore. That's what we should have done ages ago. I don't know about you guys, but I for one don't want to be thrown out of Hogwarts."

"As much as I would love to do that, the truth is that we've got no proof!" said Harry. "Quirrell's too scared to back us up. Snape's only got to say he doesn't know how the troll got in at Halloween and that he was nowhere near the third floor, who do you think they'll believe, him or us? It's not exactly a secret we hate him, Dumbledore will think we made it up to get him sacked. Filch wouldn't help us if his life depended on it, he's too friendly with Snape, and the more students get thrown out, the better, he'll think. And don't forget, we're not supposed to know about the Stone or Fluffy. That'll take a lot of explaining."

Thomas sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Harry's right. We don't have any concrete evidence, and without that, it's our word against Snape's. Dumbledore won't easily believe accusations against one of his own staff members, especially without substantial proof. Even if Harry Potter is the one who brings those accusations."

James kicked the table lightly in frustration. "So, what do we do then? Just sit back and hope everything magically works out?"

Hermione, always the voice of reason, spoke up. "I understand your frustration, but I have to agree with Harry and Tom here. If, and that's a big If, Snape is really the one behind this, which, let's be honest has proven us wrong many times over the year, then we need to find how could we, some first-years, make our headmaster believe us. I for one say that we should not bother looking into this, especially now that we are… not so liked."

"If we just do a bit of poking around …"

"No, Ron," said Harry flatly, "we've done enough poking around."

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Ron crossed his arms with a stubborn expression on his face. "I still think we should dig up some dirt on Snape. If we expose him, everyone will see we were right all along."

Thomas placed a hand on Ron's shoulder, trying to calm him down. "Ron, I understand your frustration, but Harry has a point. We've already pushed the limits of what we can handle, and we don't want to make things worse for ourselves. We need to focus on our exams and ensure we pass."

Michael chimed in, "Besides, even if we did find something incriminating, getting Dumbledore to believe us would be an uphill battle. It's best to prioritize our studies and avoid unnecessary risks."

Ron grumbled under his breath, reluctantly conceding. "Fine, but mark my words, Snape won't get away with this."

With their disagreement settled, the group packed up their belongings and left the library, ready to continue their exam preparations.

As they walked through the corridors, Thomas and Michael felt a tap on their shoulders. They turned to see Nearly Headless Nick, one of the Hogwarts ghosts, floating beside them.

"Thomas Grayson, Michael McKenzie, I must inform you that Filch has summoned you for detention,"

Thomas and Michael exchanged resigned glances, understanding that they had no choice but to follow Nearly Headless Nick. Letting out an audible grumble, they trudged behind the ghostly figure, their friends observing the scene with smirks and stifled laughter.

James couldn't resist a teasing comment. "Looks like is your turn again. You two better pray, it's not toilet duty today."

Michael rolled his eyes at him, before he answered back with a tease of his own, "I think you should be the one who should be praying mate. You and Neville are next."

James's face paled at the mention of another day of torture in detention with Neville and Filch. Memories of scrubbing bedpans and cleaning dusty shelves flooded his mind, sending a shiver down his spine.

"Oh, don't even joke about that," James replied, his voice filled with genuine dread. "I've had enough of Filch's detentions to last a lifetime. If I have to spend another minute with that man and his cat, I might lose my mind."

Adam chuckled at James's distress, finding amusement in his friend's reaction. "Don't worry, James. I'm sure you'll have your fair share of fun in detention soon enough. Filch seems to have an uncanny ability to find troublemakers."

Harry, trying to lighten the mood, interjected with a grin. "Well, at least we can keep each other company in misery. We'll have our own little detention club."

Ron joined in, nudging James playfully. "Yeah, the 'Survivors of Filch's Detention' club. We can swap horror stories and see who had the worst experience."

After a few more seconds of laughing and joking, Thomas and Michael bid their friends a temporary farewell, mustering up all of their courage as they followed Nearly Headless Nick down the corridor towards the place Filch told him to go. When Thomas and Michael entered Filch's office, they were taken aback to see Malfoy standing there ,even more so when Malfoy's usual air of arrogance was nowhere to be seen, instead, the boy look like he had just gone through the worst torture one can imagine.

"Follow me," said Filch, lighting a lamp and leading them outside. "I bet you'll think twice about breaking a school rule again, won't you, eh?" he continued, leering at them. "Oh yes … hard work and pain are the best teachers if you ask me … It's just a pity they let the old punishments die out … hang you by your wrists from the ceiling for a few days. I've got the chains still in my office, keep 'em well-oiled in case they're ever needed … Right, off we go, and don't think of running off, now. It'll be worse for you if you do."

Thomas and Michael exchanged apprehensive glances as Filch's words sank in. They followed closely behind the lantern-lit figure, praying to god that their task will not be cleaning some god forgotten part of the castle.

Silence enveloped the group as they marched across the grounds as Thomas and Michael dared not speak, fearing that any word uttered might incur Filch's wrath and result in additional tasks or punishments. They kept their gazes fixed ahead, and their minds filled with a mixture of trepidation and curiosity.

In a surprising moment, Malfoy's voice broke the silence, his whisper barely audible. "Where is he taking us?" his words drifted into the night air, seemingly intended for no one in particular. The question lingered, unanswered, as they continued their march, Filch leading the way with a sinister grin on his face as if he was excited for what was going to happen to the three boys.

As they trudged on, the trio's thoughts swirled with uncertainty. What awaited them at the end of this journey? What new form of punishment did Filch have in store? Their imaginations conjured up images of dark chambers and torturous devices, fueling their fears further, adding to Filch already sinister grin.

The moon cast its pale glow upon the grounds, intermittently obscured by the passing clouds that swept across the night sky. Through the darkness, the lighted windows of Hagrid's hut served as a beacon of hope for Thomas and Michael.

Their hearts lifted as they heard a distant shout, recognizing Hagrid's unmistakable voice. "Is that you, Filch? Hurry up, I want ter get started." The sound reached their ears, carrying a sense of comfort and relief. The prospect of working alongside Hagrid, despite the challenging circumstances, were better than whatever Filch usually put them thought.

A flicker of joy danced in their eyes, which sadly for them was caught by Filch, who seemed determined to dampen their spirits. He sneered at their expressions and spoke with a tone laced with cynicism. "I suppose you think you'll be enjoying yourself with that oaf? Well, think again, boys. It's into the Forest you're going, and I'm much mistaken if you'll all come out in one piece."

Hearing that, Malfoy stopped dead in his tracks. A look of pure horror morphed on his face.

"The Forest" he repeated, and he didn't sound quite as cool as usual. "We can't go in there at night ,there's all sorts of things in there ,werewolves, I heard."

"That's your luck, isn't it?" said Filch, his voice cracking with glee. "Should've thought of them werewolves before you got in trouble, shouldn't you Malfoy?"

Hagrid came striding towards them out of the dark, Fang at his heel. He was carrying his large crossbow, and a quiver of arrows hung over his shoulder.

"Abou' time," Hagrid grumbled. "I bin waitin' fer half an hour already. All right, Tom, Micky?"

Filch interjected with a cold tone, seeking to maintain his authority. "Yoy shouldn't be too friendly to them, Hagrid. They're here to be punished, after all."

Hagrid's furrowed brow and stern expression reflected his disapproval. He fixed his gaze on Filch and spoke with firmness. "That's why yer late, is it? Bin lecturin' them, eh? 'Snot your place ter do that. Yeh've done yer bit, I'll take over from here."

"I'll be back at dawn," said Filch, "for what's left of them," he added nastily, and he turned and started back towards the castle, his lamp bobbing away in the darkness.