The next day, the castle woke under high alert.
The Gryffindor students were finally allowed to return to the tower, but they were no longer greeted by the Fat Lady. Instead, a new guardian awaited them—overly enthusiastic and obsessed with challenges: Sir Cadogan.
The portly knight's portrait, astride his equally spirited pony, bounced up and down within the frame. He brandished his short sword and roared excitedly at the sight of students.
"Halt! State the password, or taste my blade!"
"Cowards! Dare you not fight me to the death?!"
"Charge! For honour!"
What frustrated the students even more was that Sir Cadogan seemed to regard changing the password as the most important military manoeuvre of the day.
In a single day, the password changed from "Valiant Charge" to "Dragon's Breath Flame," then from "Invincible" to "Warhorse's Whinny," and by teatime it had become "Victory's Glory"…
Not only was it utterly random, it was infuriatingly frequent.
"He changed it again!"
Ron wailed as he climbed the stairs. "This morning it was 'Dragon's Breath Flame,' and just now I heard him shout 'Fearless Challenge' at Neville—that was only two hours ago!"
"He's as annoying as Snape."
Harry rubbed his temples. They had already been forced to run up and down the stairs several times.
"I believe he's violating the most basic duties and regulations of a portrait guardian!"
Hermione's cheeks were flushed with anger as she searched through Hogwarts: A History, trying to find some theoretical basis on which to accuse the deranged knight.
"This is a complete abuse of power and creates unnecessary trouble."
Sir Cadogan was entirely unconcerned. In fact, he thought the students' constant running back and forth made for excellent training.
His excited shouts echoed at the tower entrance, adding an irritating burst of "vitality" to the still-shaken castle.
The students grumbled endlessly about the new guardian. By comparison, even the once-maligned Fat Lady now seemed far more agreeable.
Sirius Black had broken into the ancient school and then vanished without a trace. Aside from a missing rat, there appeared to have been no further serious consequences.
Yet an invisible tension, like a low-pressure system, continued to hang over Hogwarts.
Halloween passed, and the horn for the Quidditch season was about to sound. Harry had no choice but to set aside his other concerns and prepare for the first match of the new school year.
He certainly hadn't forgotten his role as Gryffindor Seeker. However, just as he was about to throw himself into intense pre-match training, Professor McGonagall came to see him, something highly unusual.
Her brows were tightly drawn, and her expression was far more severe than usual. The moment Harry saw her, his heart sank, and he wondered if someone had died at the school.
"Potter," Professor McGonagall said bluntly, "I do not think you should continue attending afternoon Quidditch practice."
"Why?" Harry asked, completely bewildered. "Our first match is this Saturday."
"I believe the reason is obvious," Professor McGonagall said, pressing her lips together. "To be frank, Potter, many of us, including Professor Dumbledore, believe you are Sirius Black's primary target. Without a professor present, your position on the Quidditch pitch is extremely dangerous."
"But Professor, I have to train!" Harry protested urgently, knowing exactly which chord to strike. "We're playing Slytherin. We have to win!"
As expected, that argument worked at once. Professor McGonagall, as Head of Gryffindor and a fervent Quidditch supporter, immediately wavered.
"Hm… very well," she conceded. "Heaven knows, I too very much want to see us finally bring the Quidditch Cup back…"
She then changed tack and proposed a compromise. "However, practice must take place with a professor present and supervising at all times. What do you say?"
"Of course, that would be perfect," Harry said with a sigh of relief, nodding eagerly.
On the other side, Sagres did not relax his vigilance either.
He focused his attention on the forgotten corners of the castle, abandoned classrooms, and deep, rarely used corridors.
He was certain that the "big black dog" and the "rat" could not remain hidden forever. They were bound to reveal their true forms sooner or later.
Such a sweeping search required patience, however, and could not pinpoint the target immediately.
He was not in any hurry.
The target was already clear. The other party would eventually be unable to restrain themselves and expose their trail. The truth emerging was only a matter of time.
Noctis moved through the shadows of the castle each day, his sharp eyes surveying every inch of the grounds.
Suddenly, Noctis spotted Harry Potter running alone down a corridor before darting into a classroom.
The raven landed on the windowsill of that classroom, tilting its small head as it watched everything unfolding inside with curiosity.
From Noctis's vantage point, Sagres witnessed an unexpected scene. Snape was standing at the lectern in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, addressing the late-arriving Harry in his slow, icy tone.
"This class began ten minutes ago, Potter," Snape said stiffly. "For that, Gryffindor will lose ten points. Sit down."
Harry did not move.
"Where's Professor Lupin?"
He looked at Snape on the platform, thought of Lupin having drunk that "terrible" potion earlier, and asked with clear concern.
Snape's lips curled into an unpleasant smile. "He said he was 'very unwell' today."
He deliberately stressed those words. "I believe I already told you to sit down, didn't I?"
Harry remained standing. "What happened to him?"
Snape's dark eyes gleamed with a dangerous light. "Regrettably, his life is not in danger."
A sneer then spread across his face. "However, it is pleasing to note that Gryffindor will lose another five points. If I have to say 'sit down' a third time, that will be fifty points."
Harry slowly walked over and sat down beside Ron, while Ron discreetly showed him a doodle of Snape he had drawn.
"Weasley," Snape's voice cut through the room like a blast of cold wind, striking Ron just as he tried to hide the parchment with the ridiculous little sketch, "can that empty head of yours hold even a scrap of useful knowledge, aside from worthless doodles? Gryffindor loses another five points, for your artistic creation."
Snape's mouth twisted into yet another mocking smile.
Ron's face flushed crimson, while Hermione beside him pressed her lips together in displeasure.
"Everyone, turn to page three hundred and ninety-four," Snape said, sweeping his gaze across the classroom. "Today, we will be studying werewolves."
The students rolled their eyes resentfully, muttering under their breath as they opened their textbooks.
"Now," Snape continued, his eyes shifting to the cauldrons on the platform, where strange liquids bubbled ominously, "since your 'frail' Professor Lupin has so 'conveniently' been unable to teach today—"
He placed deliberate emphasis on the word "frail," his eyes glittering with malice. "I shall spend half the lesson revising some potion knowledge."
The remainder of the class turned into a display of Snape deducting points.
He asked Seamus Finnigan to describe a spell effective against werewolves. Seamus stammered for quite some time before immediately losing five points, on the grounds of "confusing his audience and wasting valuable class time."
Dean Thomas splashed ink across his parchment while copying notes and lost another five points, for "a lack of basic hand-eye coordination and defiling the medium of knowledge."
"I must say," Snape concluded at the end of the lesson, his tone dripping with disappointment, "you are perhaps the most talentless and hopeless group of students I have ever had the misfortune to teach. Your shallow understanding of Defence Against the Dark Arts and your sluggish reactions make me question whether you are even qualified to remain at this school."
The young wizards clenched their teeth and endured it until the end of the lesson, but Snape deliberately dragged it out for another half hour.
As if that were not enough, he ignored the students' barely contained anger, picked up a piece of chalk, and swiftly wrote the homework on the blackboard in neat, precise strokes:
"Read pages 394 to 421 of the textbook. Write an essay no less than eight feet long, detailing various methods of identifying and defending against werewolves, and analysing their weaknesses. Due next Monday."
He then hurled the stub of chalk sharply at Ron, who had been rolling his eyes, and finally swept his gaze across the class, adding pointedly, "Be sure to analyse thoroughly. This is very important."
By the time Harry and his friends trudged into the Great Hall for dinner, most of the other students had already finished eating.
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