It was dinnertime. It was a typical evening in the Hogwarts Great Hall, with the warm glow of enchanted candles casting flickering shadows on the stone walls. The aroma of delicious food filled the air as students chatted and laughed, enjoying their meals after a long day of classes.
Harry sat with Ron at the Hufflepuff table and had just finished recounting his unexpected encounter with Professor McGonagall and the news about becoming the Gryffindor Seeker. Ron, normally voracious when it came to food, had forgotten all about his half-eaten piece of steak and kidney pie, his attention fully captured by Harry's revelation.
"Seeker?" Ron exclaimed, his fork hovering in mid-air, forgotten bits of pie falling back onto his plate. "But first years never—you must be the youngest house player in about a century," he marveled, his eyes wide with awe. He hastily shoveled another forkful of pie into his mouth, his appetite spurred on by the excitement of the afternoon.
"Wood told me," Harry explained, a sense of pride evident in his voice as he relayed the details. "I start training next week," he added, leaning in slightly across the table. "Only don't tell anyone, Wood wants to keep it a secret."
Fred and George Weasley entered the Great Hall with their characteristic swagger, their red hair standing out amidst the sea of students. Spotting Harry and their younger brother Ron, they made their way over with purposeful strides.
"Well done," George murmured in a conspiratorial tone, leaning in close to Harry. "Wood told us. We're on the team too—Beaters."
“Beaters?” Harry queried, his curiosity piqued.
“Harry hasn’t played Quidditch yet,” Ron interjected, offering an explanation. “He doesn’t know what Beaters are.”
George nodded understandingly, then crouched down slightly to meet Harry's eye level. “We keep you—the Seeker—safe from Bludgers. Big nasty things shaped like cannonballs aiming to take you out of the game,” he explained, demonstrating with a swinging motion of his arm as if wielding an invisible baseball bat.
The image of cannonballs hurtling through the air, intent on knocking him from his broom, sent a shiver down Harry's spine. However, the reassuring presence of Fred and George, skilled and experienced as they were, offered a comforting sense of protection.
"I tell you, we're going to win that Quidditch cup for sure this year," Fred declared confidently, his grin wide with anticipation. "We haven't won since Charlie left, but this year's team is going to be brilliant. You must be good, Harry, Wood was almost skipping when he told us." His words carried a contagious enthusiasm, igniting a spark of excitement within Harry as he envisioned the upcoming Quidditch season with his newfound teammates.
"Anyway, we've got to go, Lee Jordan reckons he's found a new secret passageway out of the school, and we’re not missing that chance for the world."
As Fred and George swiftly vanished from sight, their footsteps echoing faintly against the stone floor, the atmosphere around Harry and his friends seemed to shift. The joviality that had filled the air moments ago dissipated.
Before long, the tranquility was shattered by the unwelcome arrival of Malfoy, flanked by his hulking cronies, Crabbe and Goyle. Their presence seemed to cast a shadow over the otherwise bustling Great Hall.
"Having a last meal, Potter? When are you getting the train back to the Muggles?" Malfoy sneered, his voice dripping with disdain as he addressed Harry.
Harry met Malfoy's gaze with a cool indifference, refusing to let the Slytherin's taunts rattle him. "You're a lot braver now that you're back on the ground and you've got your little friends with you," he retorted, his tone steady despite the underlying tension. Though Crabbe and Goyle loomed menacingly behind Malfoy, their imposing presence tempered by the watchful eyes of the teachers seated at the High Table.
"I'd take you on anytime on my own," Malfoy boasted, a smirk playing across his lips as he issued his challenge. "Tonight, if you want. Wizard's duel. Wands only—no contact. What's the matter? Never heard of a wizard's duel before, I suppose?"
Harry remained composed, his resolve unwavering even in the face of Malfoy's provocation. Yet, before he could respond, Ron wheeled around to face Malfoy, his expression defiant. "Of course he has," Ron interjected boldly, his voice carrying across the Great Hall. "I'm his second, who's yours?" His words echoed with a challenge of their own, setting the stage for a confrontation that seemed inevitable.
Malfoy looked at Crabbe and Goyle, sizing them up.
"Crabbe," he said. "Midnight all right? We'll meet you in the trophy room; that's always unlocked."
When Malfoy had gone, Their eyes met, reflecting a mixture of uncertainty and determination as they grappled with the weight of Malfoy's challenge.
"What is a wizard's duel?" Harry inquired, his voice tinged with curiosity and a hint of apprehension. "And what do you mean, you're my second?"
Ron, ever pragmatic, continued to dissect the situation with characteristic nonchalance as he finally dug into his neglected pie. "Well, a second's there to take over if you die," he explained matter-of-factly, though he hastened to add, "But people only die in proper duels, you know, with real wizards. The most you and Malfoy'll be able to do is send sparks at each other. Neither of you knows enough magic to do any real damage. I bet he expected you to refuse, anyway."
Harry's brow furrowed with concern, his mind racing through the possibilities. "And what if I wave my wand and nothing happens?" he pondered aloud, a hint of uncertainty creeping into his voice.
Ron's response was swift and straightforward, his tone conveying a sense of practicality amidst the brewing tension. "Throw it away and punch him on the nose," he suggested, a glimmer of defiance flickering in his eyes.
Harry hesitated, grappling with the notion of resorting to physical confrontation. "I don’t know if I can do that though," he admitted, his voice tinged with doubt.
Sensing Harry's hesitation, Ron sought to reassure him, offering a practical solution. "Well, we can do a practice duel before we go. Tonight we can meet in your common room and—"
"Excuse me."
They both looked up, the Great Hall's ambient noise momentarily silenced by the interruption. It was Hermione Granger, her expression a mix of concern and determination.
"Can't a person eat in peace in this place?" said Ron, his tone laced with irritation at the interruption.
Hermione, undeterred by Ron's curt remark, directed her attention solely to Harry. "I couldn't help overhearing what you and Malfoy were saying—"
"Bet you could," Ron muttered under his breath, though Hermione seemed to ignore his jab.
"--and you mustn't go wandering around the school at night, think of the points you'll lose for your house if you're caught, and you're bound to be. It's really very selfish of you," Hermione admonished, her words tinged with a blend of worry and reproach.
"And it's really none of your business," Harry retorted, his voice edged with defiance as he bristled at Hermione's interference.
“What’re his points to you?” Ron interjected, his tone incredulous as he challenged Hermione's motives.
Hermione shot Ron a pointed look, her irritation palpable. “There are plenty of Gryffindors I’ve spoken kindly to who I’m looking out for,” she countered, her gaze unwavering as she stood her ground.
"Good-bye," said Ron, his annoyance evident as he dismissed Hermione with a wave of his hand, eager to return to their conversation without further interruption.
“Well, you ready to go back?” Ron said. “Suddenly I don’t feel like eating anymore,” said Ron.
As the Great Hall emptied after the evening feast, Harry trailed after Ron, his curiosity piqued by the prospect of seeing the Hufflepuff Common Room for the first time. The echoes of laughter and chatter filled the vast hall as students lingered, exchanging stories and making plans for the evening ahead. The warm glow of torchlight flickered against the ornate walls, casting intricate shadows that danced along the polished stone floors.
Following Ron through the throngs of students, Harry marveled at the diversity of Hogwarts' inhabitants. Gryffindors with scarlet ties mingled with Ravenclaws in their robes of blue and bronze, while Slytherins, adorned in emerald and silver, exchanged sly glances as they passed.
As they weaved through the bustling crowd, the tantalizing aroma of the feast lingered in the air, reminding Harry of the delicious spread they had just enjoyed. The sound of laughter and conversation filled the hall, creating a lively atmosphere.
Ron led Harry down a labyrinth of corridors, their footsteps echoing off the stone walls. Torches flickered along the passageways, casting dancing shadows that seemed to leap and dance in the dim light. The portraits lining the walls whispered amongst themselves, their painted eyes following the two boys as they made their way through the castle.
As they turned a corner, they came face to face with Argus Filch, the cantankerous caretaker, cut a figure that seemed almost as ancient as the castle itself. His hunched form was draped in a threadbare brown coat, patched at the elbows and fraying at the seams. The fabric hung loosely around his wiry frame, accentuating his gaunt appearance. His face was weathered by years of toil and resentment, was etched with deep lines and creases. His sharp, beady eyes gleamed with suspicion beneath a heavy brow, darting this way and that as if searching for any signs of mischief or wrongdoing. When his eyes settle on Harry and Ron, a sinking feeling sits in his chest.
"Where do you two think you're going?" he sneered, his voice dripping with suspicion. It was like a low rumble, barely human at all and yet still carried behind those eyes.
Ron shot Harry a quick glance before flashing Filch a charming smile. "Just heading back to our common room, sir," he said smoothly, hoping to avoid any trouble. “Nothing but the walk.”
Filch eyed them both skeptically for a moment before grumbling something about troublesome students and shooing them away with a wave of his hand. “Don’t you dare step a foot out of line,” he mumbled. “I ain’t ready to bring out the chains just yet. The dungeons aren’t quite ready for misbehaving kids until they get all warmed up.”
Relieved, Harry and Ron continued on their way, their footsteps quickening as they approached the entrance to the Hufflepuff Common Room—a stack of barrels tucked away near the kitchens.
“This looks like a dead end,” said Harry, squinting at the row of barrels blocking their path.
“That’s just like your portrait,” said Ron, grinning. “You gotta do this,” he continued, raising his hand and balling it into a fist. He aimed for the barrel second from the bottom—middle of the row—and rasped a knocking sound on it twice quickly, then thrice in succession after a brief pause.
“How’re you supposed to remember that?” Harry asked, eyebrows furrowing in confusion as he watched Ron’s demonstration.
Ron shrugged, his expression nonchalant. “Simple. You just gotta think like a Hufflepuff,” he winked.
Harry let out a chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief. “Right, because thinking like a Hufflepuff is so easy.”
With a grin, Ron gestured for Harry to give it a try. “Come on, mate, show me what you’ve got.”
Taking a deep breath, Harry mimicked Ron’s knocking pattern, his knuckles rapping against the barrel’s surface. The wood seemed to hum beneath his touch, responding to the familiar rhythm.
A moment of tense anticipation followed before, with a soft click, the barrel’s lid swung open, revealing a dimly lit passage beyond.
Ron’s grin widened into a triumphant smile. “See? Piece of cake.”
Harry couldn’t help but return the smile, feeling a surge of excitement as they prepared to venture into the unknown. With Ron leading the way, they disappeared into the darkness, eager to uncover the secrets hidden within the labyrinthine corridors of Hogwarts.
“How do you remember that pattern anyway?” Harry asked.
The barrel was tucked away in a cozy alcove just off the main corridor. Its wooden surface bore the marks of time, with intricate carvings depicting scenes of nature and camaraderie among Hufflepuffs. A soft glow emanated from the enchanted torches that lined the walls, casting warm shadows that danced across the stone floor.
Ron crouched beside the barrel, tapping a specific sequence of patterns on its surface. Harry watched with curiosity as the barrel seemed to respond, emitting a soft hum as its lid popped open, revealing a dark tunnel within.
“Quite simple once you get the hang of it,” Ron explained, his voice hushed. “Just a simple system to keep non-Hufflepuffs out. At least, ones not invited.”
“What’s the system?” Harry asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.
“Helga Hufflepuff,” Ron replied cryptically.
With a nod from Ron, Harry hesitated only for a moment before following him into the barrel. The tunnel was narrow, but Harry found himself drawn forward by the anticipation of what lay beyond.
As they crawled through the winding passage, Harry’s senses were overwhelmed by the earthy scent of the underground and the faint echoes of laughter and conversation drifting towards them. The tunnel seemed to stretch on endlessly until finally, they emerged into a warm, welcoming space.
The Hufflepuff Common Room was unlike anything Harry had ever seen. The circular room was bathed in golden light, streaming in from stained glass windows adorned with images of badgers and lush greenery. Comfortable armchairs and sofas were arranged around a crackling fireplace that was similar to the one in Harry’s own common room.
The walls were decorated with tapestries depicting scenes of friendship and loyalty, while shelves filled with books and games lined the perimeter of the room. A large, round table dominated the center, where a spread of snacks and drinks awaited hungry Hufflepuffs.
Ron grinned at Harry’s awestruck expression. “Welcome to the Hufflepuff Common Room,” he said proudly.
As the time passed, they had pushed aside the table so make room in the center of the floor for them to stand equidistant, but facing one another.
"Alright, Harry, let's give this a shot," Ron said, his voice brimming with excitement as he gestured for Harry to join him. “I haven’t done this myself, but I’ve heard a lot about it from Fred and George.”
“Another thing they’re totally telling the truth about?” Harry asked, amidst a laugh.
“Oh come on, I know they like to mess, but when they’re bragging about something, you know they’re telling the truth.”
Harry nodded.
“"So, in a wizard's duel, the aim is to disarm your opponent without causing any real harm," he began, his hands illustrating the motions of wand work. "Of course, duels end up wiry all the time, but the intention is respect and honor and all that other boring stuff,” he was emphatically talking with his hands now. “It’s kind of like...wizard’s chess in a way. There’s a proper strategy and everything begins in its own turn. Yet, you've gotta be quick on your feet and sharp with your spells."
“Okay, so what’s the first step?” Harry asked.
Ron nodded, “First, you bow your head, and then a full bow with your wand pointed down.”
Harry mirrored the motion and felt a shining energy welling up within—easily sourced to his wand.
“I’m not exactly sure of it, but you should feel something at this point. I think the magic is talking to the wand—preparing it.”
“I feel it,” Harry said.
“Has Quirrell taught you guys Stupefy yet?” Ron asked. “’Bout the only one he’s had time to show us so far since he’s stuttered his way through most of the history part of the lesson.”
“He hasn’t yet,” Harry shook his head.
Ron sighed, “I don’t really get it myself, I think he taught it wrong, but it was something like this,” he waved his hand forward and said the incantation, but little more than shimmering sparks spat out the end of his wand. “Well, it’s supposed to stun. George said he used a disarming charm when he and Fred dueled Cassius Warrington and Thaddeus Armstrong.”
“Who?” Harry asked.
“A couple a Slytherin third years who took one of their jokes a little too seriously. Apparently they got their butts handed to them—literally.”
Harry couldn’t imagine the type of spell that could make that happen, but the thought made him laugh all the same.
“Well, let me see if I can do it,” Harry said, and mimicked the motion Ron had done, and said aloud, “Stupefy.”
A small red jolt of energy shot forth from Harry’s wand and hit Ron right in the chest. He was thrown back into the sofa and his head reclined against the back pillow.
“Ron?” Harry asked. He ran over to the sofa and saw his friend’s chest rising up and down slowly, but his eyes were blank.
Harry began to panic, he didn’t think of what would happen if it actually went off. He racked his brain for a moment—he couldn’t leave him here like this—much less be without his second for the real duel. He paced back and forth for a moment until it hit him.
Professor Flitwick had taught them the counter-charm Finite in their second lesson. He was talking about how it could undo most common forms of spells or jinxes. This was exactly what he needed...he just needed to remember the movement.
He took a deep breath and held his wand up—his arm seemed to move on its own, he raised it in a diagonal arc to the right, brought it down, and then swung it up-left and said, “Finite!”
A white spark shot out of the end of his wand and entered Ron’s chest, and within moments his eyes shot open and he gasped for air.
“Bloody hell,” Ron said, looking around the room. “The last thing I remember was…” he traced the ground and saw Harry above him, his arm outstretched and pointing directly at him. “Harry you…”
“Ron...I’m sorry. I didn’t think—”
“Harry, you did it!” Ron said, a smile forming and he jumped up, hugging Harry and laughing.
“It honestly felt kind of...good,” Harry said. “Like, I was accomplishing something.”
“Well, don’t hog all the glory yourself,” said Ron. “If I’m gonna be your second, I need to get it down too.”
As they began their practice, the common room seemed to fade into the background, the crackling fire and cozy surroundings forgotten as Harry and Ron focused solely on their training. Ron guided Harry through the motions, offering encouragement and corrections as they worked through the spells and techniques.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
With each attempt, Harry grew more confident, his movements becoming fluid and precise. Ron watched with pride as his friend's wand work improved, his own excitement building with each successful spell cast. It took Ron a little longer, but he was able to manage the red shot out of his wand and Harry felt the wind blow out of his lungs as he fell back onto the sofa, and then what felt like moments later the air rushing back in as his eyes opened forcefully.
As they continued their practice, the air around them crackled with energy, the sparks from their wands lighting up the room in a dazzling display. The shadows danced across the walls, adding an air of magic and mystery to their impromptu duel.
Despite their concentration, the occasional misfire sent bursts of light scattering across the room, eliciting laughs and exclamations from both boys. But with each mistake came a valuable lesson, and they pressed on, determined to master the art of wizard's dueling.
As the evening wore on, Harry and Ron found themselves lost in the rhythm of their practice, the common room fading into the background as they focused solely on the magic coursing through their veins. In that moment, they were not just two first-year students, but fledgling wizards on the brink of something extraordinary.
After their practice, Ron had spent all evening giving him advice such as "If he tries to curse you, you'd better dodge it, because I can't remember how to block them." There was a very good chance they were going to get caught by Filch or Mrs. Norris, and Harry felt he was pushing his luck, breaking another school rule today. On the other hand, Malfoy's sneering face kept looming up out of the darkness—this was his big chance to beat Malfoy face-to-face. He couldn't miss it.
"Half-past eleven," Ron muttered at last, his voice barely above a whisper, "we'd better go."
Harry's fingers closed around his wand, feeling the comforting weight of it in his hand, as if it were a lifeline in the darkness. With silent determination, they crept across the common room, their footsteps muffled by the thick carpet, and exited through the barrels.
Ron slid the lid off the barrel with practiced ease, revealing the tunnel leading to the secret passage. Thankfully, a secret code wasn’t required to leave as well as to enter, allowing them to slip out into the corridor without hesitation.
As they exited, they slinked off through the hall, their forms blending into the shadows as they moved swiftly to avoid detection. Harry's gaze flickered towards the kitchen, where he glimpsed the silhouettes of house-elves bustling about their nightly tasks before they vanished completely from view, Ron pulling him away to avoid being spotted before he could get a clearer look.
Bounding up a set of stairs, Harry tried to be as quiet as he could, his heart pounding in his chest with a mixture of nerves and excitement. They headed in the direction of the Trophy Room, their footsteps echoing softly against the stone walls. However, as they passed by the Library, a voice spoke from behind them, sending a jolt of surprise through Harry.
"I can't believe you're going to do this, Harry."
Harry turned and saw Hermione Granger standing there, a few excess books in her hand, her expression a mix of concern and curiosity. Hermione, a first-year student like Harry and Ron, was easily recognizable by her bushy chestnut hair, which framed her face in a wild halo. She stood with a slight stoop, a sign of her scholarly dedication even at such a young age.
Her school robes were neatly pressed, a crisp white shirt peeking out from beneath the Ravenclaw cloak. A knitted scarf in the rich blue and bronze colors of her house was wound tightly around her neck, providing a splash of warmth against the chill of the castle corridors. Her skirt, a deep shade of midnight blue, swished lightly as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her black shoes polished to a shine. Despite her serious demeanor, there was an undeniable spark of intelligence in her brown eyes, a determination that marked her as a force to be reckoned with.
"You!" said Ron furiously. "Go back to bed!"
"I almost told your brother, you know," Hermione snapped, her Ravenclaw intellect shining through her anger. "Percy—he's a prefect, he'd put a stop to this nonsense game you have on."
Harry couldn't believe anyone could be so interfering, but he knew Hermione's dedication to maintaining order in Hogwarts.
"Come on," he said to Ron, gesturing for them to move away from the Library.
Hermione wasn't going to give up that easily.
"Don't you care about Gryffindor? And you Hufflepuff? Do you only care about yourselves? I don't want Slytherin to win the house cup,"
"Go away," Ron muttered, his frustration evident.
"All right, but I warned you," Hermione repeated, her tone laced with frustration. Her eyes flashed with determination as she continued, "You just remember what I said when you're on the train home tomorrow. You're so—"
But before she could finish her sentence, a look of shock crossed her face, her features illuminated by the soft glow of the torches lining the corridor. "I...didn’t realize it was so late myself. I was reading and...oh, I figured I’d see you before you went out on your plan...now what am I going to do?" she asked shrilly, her voice echoing down the empty hallway.
"That's your problem," said Ron. "We've got to go. We're going to be late. We didn’t ask you to be on lookout."
They hadn't even reached the end of the corridor when Hermione caught up with them, her Ravenclaw scarf billowing behind her as she hurried to keep pace.
"I'm coming with you," she declared, her determination unwavering.
"You are not," Ron protested, his voice rising with frustration.
"D'you think I'm going to stand out here and wait for Filch to catch me?" Hermione shot back, her brown eyes blazing with defiance. "If he finds all three of us, I'll tell him the truth, that I was trying to stop you, and you can back me up."
"You've got some nerve—" Ron began loudly, but Hermione interrupted him, her resolve unshakable.
"Shut up, both of you!" said Harry sharply. I heard something."
It was a sort of snuffling.
"Mrs. Norris?" breathed Ron, squinting through the dark.
But it wasn't Mrs. Norris. It was Neville. He was curled up on the floor, fast asleep, his Gryffindor robes rumpled from his impromptu nap, but jerked suddenly awake as they crept nearer.
"Oh, Harry!” Neville called. Thank goodness you found me! I've been out here for hours. I couldn't remember the new password to get in to bed, so I was trying to see if anybody else had forgotten..."
"Keep your voice down, Neville. The password's 'Pig snout' but it won't help you now, the Pink Lady's probably off for the night,” said Harry. “Oh, and...how’s your arm?”
"Fine," said Neville, showing them. "Madam Pomfrey mended it in about a minute. Said I’m not the only one who’s visited on account of Flying Class."
"Good—well, look, Neville, we've got to be somewhere, we'll see you later—"
"Don't leave me!" said Neville, scrambling to his feet, "I don't want to stay here alone, the Bloody Baron's been past twice already."
Ron looked at his watch and then glared furiously at Hermione and Neville.
"If either of you get us caught, I'll never rest until I've learned that Curse of the Bogies jinx George used on me last summer.”
Hermione opened her mouth, perhaps to tell Ron exactly how to use the Curse of the Bogies, but Harry hissed at her to be quiet and beckoned them all forward.
They flitted along corridors striped with bars of moonlight from the high windows. At every turn Harry expected to run into Filch or Mrs. Norris, but they were lucky. They sped up a staircase to the third floor and tiptoed toward the trophy room.
Malfoy and Crabbe weren't there yet. The crystal trophy cases glimmered where the moonlight caught them, casting intricate patterns of light and shadow across the polished surfaces. Cups, shields, plates, and statues winked silver and gold in the darkness, each one a testament to the achievements and glories of Hogwarts past.
They edged along the walls, their footsteps muffled by the thick carpet, keeping their eyes on the doors at either end of the room. Harry took out his wand, its familiar weight comforting in his hand, ready to act if Malfoy appeared and started trouble. The minutes crept by, each one stretching out like an eternity in the tense silence.
Hermione, her brow furrowed with concern, turned to Harry. "Why are you so determined to duel Malfoy, anyway? It seems like you're risking a lot for something so small like a confrontation with him."
Harry hesitated for a moment before responding, the memories of his childhood at the Dursleys' flooding back. "Hermione, you don't know what it was like for me growing up at home." he began, his voice tinged with a mixture of sadness and frustration. "They treated me like I was nothing, like I didn't belong. Muggles who actively hid that I was a wizard. And Dudley, my cousin, he was the worst of them all."
Hermione's eyes widened as he spoke. Ron and Neville—who had been more privy to details of Harry’s home life had decided they didn’t want to interrupt.
"Dudley would bully me relentlessly, Hermione," Harry continued, his voice growing stronger with each recollection. "He'd call me names, push me around, make fun of me for things that were beyond my control. It was like living in a constant nightmare, never knowing when he would strike next. Every day was a new day for Dudley to do something awful—for his parents to egg it on and then join in. People like me don’t get to have justice against people like that. Not unless you stand up for it."
Hermione's expression softened with empathy as she realized the extent of Harry's suffering. "I had no idea, Harry," she murmured, her voice filled with compassion. "I'm so sorry you had to go through that."
Harry nodded, a sense of relief washing over him as he finally shared his pain with someone who understood. "Thank you, Hermione," he said softly, grateful for her support. "That's why bullies like Malfoy bother me so much. I can't stand by and let him make others feel the same way Dudley made me feel. And how he’s been targeting Neville because he realizes that I’ll actually do something about it...it burns me on the inside.”
Neville looked to Harry with a sense of admiration, he nodded and murmured a quiet, “Thank you,” before turning his attention elsewhere, embarrassed it even needed to get to this point.
In the interim minutes, Harry took the opportunity to examine some of the trophies on display. The Trophy Room was a treasure trove of Hogwarts history, with each gleaming trophy telling a story of triumph and achievement. Some looked to be awarded in service to the school, their gleaming surfaces reflecting the moonlight in mesmerizing patterns. Harry's eyes wandered over a collection of Quidditch trophies, each one a testament to the skill and dedication of past teams. The golden snitches glinted in the dim light, their delicate wings shimmering as if caught in flight.
One particularly prominent trophy caught his eye, bearing the inscription: "Awarded to Albus Dumbledore for Academic Excellence." Harry felt a surge of admiration for the revered headmaster, his accomplishments immortalized in the polished silver of the trophy. Next to that was a trophy from 1943, adorned with the engraved words "Special Award for Services to the School," won by a Tom—
"He's late, maybe he's chickened out," Ron whispered, his voice barely above a murmur, pulling Harry’s attention away from the trophies and back to the task at hand.
Then a noise in the next room made them jump. Harry had only just raised his wand when they heard someone speak—and it wasn't Malfoy. The air in the Trophy Room seemed to still, every sound amplified in the tense silence.
"Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner."
It was Filch speaking to Mrs. Norris, his voice carrying a sinister edge that sent shivers down Harry's spine. Horror-struck, Harry waved madly at the other three to follow him as quickly as possible; they scurried silently toward the door, their footsteps barely making a sound against the polished floor. The trophies seemed to watch them with silent anticipation as they hurried past, their gleaming surfaces reflecting the fear in Harry's eyes.
Neville's robes had barely whipped round the corner when they heard Filch enter the Trophy Room, his heavy footsteps echoing ominously in the confined space.
"They're in here somewhere," they heard him mutter, his voice tinged with malice. "Probably hiding. Oh, this will be fun..."
"This way!" Harry mouthed urgently to the others, his heart pounding in his chest as they began to creep down a long gallery full of suits of armor. The moonlight filtering through the high windows cast eerie shadows on the gleaming metal, adding to the sense of foreboding that hung heavy in the air. They could hear Filch getting nearer, his footsteps echoing ominously in the silent corridor.
Neville suddenly let out a frightened squeak and broke into a run, his footsteps echoing loudly in the stillness. He tripped over an uneven floorboard, his hands reaching out instinctively to grab onto Ron around the waist, but their combined weight sent them crashing into a suit of armor with a deafening clang. The metallic echoes reverberated through the gallery, a cacophony of noise that seemed to fill the entire castle.
"RUN!" Harry yelled, his voice echoing down the corridor, as panic surged through him. The four of them sprinted down the gallery, their breath coming in ragged gasps, not daring to look back to see whether Filch was following. They swung around the doorpost and galloped down one corridor then another, the sound of their footsteps reverberating off the stone walls.
Harry led the way, his mind a whirlwind of fear and adrenaline, his instincts guiding him through the maze-like corridors of Hogwarts. They ripped through a tapestry, the fabric tearing with a loud rip, and found themselves in a hidden passageway, the cool air of the secret tunnel washing over them. They hurtled along it, their footsteps echoing in the confined space, until they emerged near their Charms classroom, their lungs burning with exertion, miles from the trophy room but finally out of immediate danger.
"I think we've lost him," Harry panted, the cool stone of the corridor providing a welcome reprieve as he leaned against the cold wall, his chest heaving with exertion. Neville was bent double beside him, wheezing and spluttering, his face flushed with the strain of their mad dash through the castle.
"I—told—you," Hermione gasped between ragged breaths, her voice strained as she clutched at the stitch in her chest, beads of sweat glistening on her forehead, "I—told—you."
"We've got to get back to the Hufflepuff Common Room. Least we can wait til morning," said Ron, his words punctuated by the rhythmic thud of his heartbeat echoing in his ears.
"Malfoy tricked you," Hermione said to Harry, her voice laced with frustration and accusation. "You realize that, don't you? He was never going to meet you—Filch knew someone was going to be in the trophy room, Malfoy must have tipped him off."
Harry thought she was probably right, but he wasn't going to tell her that. Instead, he remained silent, his mind racing with the implications of Malfoy's betrayal, his hand still trembling slightly from the adrenaline rush of their narrow escape.
"Let's go."
It wasn't going to be that simple. They hadn't gone more than a dozen paces when a doorknob rattled and something came shooting out of a classroom in front of them. The sound echoed down the corridor, bouncing off the stone walls with a sharp metallic clang. Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged wary glances, their nerves already frayed from their encounter in the Trophy Room.
As they braced themselves for whatever was about to emerge, the door swung open with a loud creak, revealing Peeves, the mischievous poltergeist of Hogwarts. He caught sight of them and gave a squeal of delight, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he floated towards them, a swarm of fluttering papers trailing behind him like a chaotic whirlwind.
"Potty, Weasel, and the bookworm!" Peeves chortled gleefully, his voice echoing off the walls. “What brings you lot out at this hour, eh? Up to no good, I'll wager!"
Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville exchanged uneasy glances, their nerves already on edge from their narrow escape. They knew all too well the trouble Peeves could cause, especially when he sensed an opportunity for mischief.
"Shut up, Peeves—please—you'll get us thrown out."
Peeves cackled. "Wandering around at midnight, Ickle Firsties? Tut, tut, tut. Naughty, naughty, you'll get caughty."
"Not if you don't give us away, Peeves, please," Harry pleaded, his voice tinged with desperation as he tried to reason with the mischievous poltergeist.
"Should tell Filch, I should," said Peeves in a saintly voice, but his eyes glittered wickedly, the faint light casting eerie shadows across his mischievous features. "It's for your own good, you know. I wouldn’t want to be responsible if anything naughty ended up catching your tails in the dead of night."
"Get out of the way," snapped Ron, his frustration evident as he took a swipe at Peeves, but this was a big mistake.
"STUDENTS OUT OF BED!" Peeves bellowed, his voice echoing down the corridor like a thunderclap. "STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!"
Ducking under Peeves, they ran for their lives, their footsteps pounding against the cold stone floor, echoing in the empty hallway. They reached the end of the corridor and slammed into a door—and it was locked.
"This is it!" Ron moaned, his voice filled with despair as they pushed helplessly at the door. "We're done for! This is the end!"
They could hear footsteps approaching, the sound of Filch running as fast as he could toward Peeves's shouts.
“I don’t want to be hung up by my feet,” Neville cried, his voice trembling with fear.
"Oh, move over," Hermione snarled, her frustration boiling over as she took charge. She grabbed Harry's wand, the cool metal comforting in her hand, and tapped the lock. With a swift motion, she spun her wrist in a circle, then brought her hand down and whispered, "Alohomora!"
The lock clicked and the door swung open—they piled through it, their hearts pounding in their chests as they shut it quickly, their hands trembling with fear as they pressed their ears against it, listening intently for any sign of pursuit.
"Which way did they go, Peeves?" Filch's voice echoed down the corridor, the urgency palpable in his tone. "Quick, tell me."
"Say 'please,'" Peeves taunted, his voice dripping with mischief and malice.
"Don't mess with me, Peeves, now where did they go?" Filch's patience was wearing thin, desperation creeping into his voice.
"Shan't say nothing if you don't say please," said Peeves in his annoying singsong voice, the words floating through the air like a taunting melody.
"All right—please," Filch relented, his voice strained with frustration.
"NOTHING! Ha haaa! Told you I wouldn't say nothing if you didn't say please! Ha ha! Haaaaaa!" Peeves cackled gleefully, the sound of his laughter echoing off the stone walls, mocking Filch's futile attempts to catch them. And then, just as suddenly as he had appeared, they heard the sound of Peeves whooshing away and Filch cursing in rage, his voice fading into the distance as he continued his fruitless pursuit.
"He thinks this door is locked," Harry whispered, the words barely audible in the tense silence. The dim light from the flickering torches cast long shadows across the corridor, adding to the sense of foreboding that hung heavy in the air. "I think we'll be okay—get off, Neville!"
For Neville had been tugging on the sleeve of Harry's robe for the last minute, his grip desperate in the face of impending danger. "What?" Harry turned around—and saw, quite clearly, what.
For a moment, he was sure he'd walked into a nightmare—this was too much, on top of everything that had happened so far. They weren't in a room, as he had supposed. They were in a corridor. But not just any corridor. It was the forbidden corridor on the third floor, a place that held secrets deemed too dangerous for students to explore. And now they knew why it was forbidden.
The dim light flickered and danced off the cold stone walls, casting elongated shadows that seemed to reach out and ensnare them in their grasp. The air was heavy with the weight of centuries-old magic, a palpable sense of danger lingering in every corner.
They were looking straight into the eyes of a monstrous dog, its presence filling the entire space between the ceiling and the floor. Its fur was matted and unkempt, giving it a wild and menacing appearance. The dim light glinted off its coarse fur, casting eerie shadows across its three heads. Three pairs of rolling, mad eyes stared back at them, each one filled with a primal hunger that sent a shiver down Harry's spine. Three noses twitched and quivered in their direction, sniffing the air with a predatory instinct. And three drooling mouths hung open, saliva dripping in slippery ropes from yellowish fangs that glistened in the faint light.
It stood quite still, its massive form blocking their only escape route. All six eyes stared at them, unblinking and filled with a primal rage. Harry knew that the only reason they weren't already dead was that their sudden appearance had taken it by surprise, but it was quickly getting over that. There was no mistaking what those thunderous growls meant—the creature was ready to attack, and they were its prey.
Harry's hand trembled as he groped for the doorknob, the cool metal slippery with sweat beneath his touch. Between facing Filch's wrath and the imminent danger lurking in the forbidden corridor, there was no hesitation—Harry would take Filch any day.
With a sense of urgency driving them forward, they fell backward through the doorway, their hearts racing in their chests as Harry slammed the door shut behind them. The sound of the latch clicking into place echoed in the narrow corridor, sealing them off from the monstrous dog that lurked just beyond.
“I think the Gryffindor Tower is closest,” Harry said, “Follow me!”
They ran, their footsteps echoing off the stone walls as they fled down the corridor, the urgency of their escape lending wings to their feet. Filch must have hurried off to search for them elsewhere, because they didn't see him anywhere in the dimly lit passageway. But they hardly cared—fear propelled them forward, their only thought to put as much distance as possible between them and the terrifying creature they had encountered.
Their breath came in ragged gasps as they sprinted through the twisting corridors of Hogwarts, their hearts pounding in their ears. They didn't stop running until they reached the portrait of the Pink Lady on the seventh floor, their chests heaving with exertion as they collapsed against the cold stone wall, relief flooding through them at the sight of the familiar guardian of Gryffindor Tower.
"Where on earth have you been?" she asked, looking at their robes hanging off their shoulders and their flushed, sweaty faces.
"Never mind that—pig snout, pig snout," panted Harry, and the portrait swung forward. They scrambled into the common room and collapsed, trembling, into armchairs.
It was a while before any of them said anything. Neville, indeed, looked as if he'd never speak again.
"What do they think they're doing, keeping a thing like that locked up in a school?" said Ron finally. "If any dog needs exercise, that one does."
Hermione had got both her breath and her bad temper back again. "You don't use your eyes, any of you, do you?" she snapped. "Didn't you see what it was standing on?”
"The floor?" Harry suggested. "I wasn't looking at its feet, I was too busy with its heads."
"No, not the floor. It was standing on a trapdoor. It's obviously guarding something," Hermione explained, her voice tinged with frustration as she stood up, glaring at them. The dim light from the torches cast deep shadows across her face, accentuating the stern set of her jaw.
“I hope you're pleased with yourselves. We could all have been killed—or worse, expelled," she admonished, her words carrying the weight of their near-death encounter. She sighed and glanced around the dimly lit corridor, the tension in the air palpable.
“I guess I could bunk with Parvati for the rest of the night,” she muttered, more to herself than to them, before turning to face Harry and Ron. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to go get some sleep.”
Ron stared after her, his mouth open in disbelief. "No, we don't mind," he said sarcastically, his frustration evident in his tone. "You'd think we dragged her along, wouldn't you?” He shook his head in exasperation, the events of the evening weighing heavily on his mind.
But Hermione had given Harry something else to think about as he climbed back into bed. The events of the evening replayed in his mind like a vivid nightmare, each detail etched into his memory with alarming clarity. The image of the monstrous dog, its three heads snarling and drooling, loomed large in his thoughts, a reminder of the danger that lurked within the depths of Hogwarts.
As he lay in bed, his mind racing with questions and uncertainties, Harry couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to the dog than met the eye. Hermione's words echoed in his mind, her assertion that the creature was guarding something stirring a sense of curiosity within him.
"What had Hagrid said?" Harry mused, his brow furrowing with concentration as he tried to recall their conversation. The memory came flooding back to him in fragments, Hagrid's cryptic words echoing in his mind.
"Gringotts was the safest place in the world for something you wanted to hide—except perhaps Hogwarts," Harry remembered, the significance of Hagrid's words dawning on him with sudden clarity. It looked as though Harry had found out where the grubby little package from vault seven hundred and thirty-one was.
A surge of excitement coursed through him at the realization, tempered by a sense of unease at the thought of what secrets the package might hold. Harry knew that he had stumbled upon something significant, something that could unravel the mysteries surrounding his past and his connection to the wizarding world. But with that knowledge came a newfound sense of responsibility—a realization that he was treading into dangerous territory, where the line between curiosity and danger blurred dangerously.