The corridor was bathed in the dying light of the afternoon sun, casting long, dusty shadows against the stone walls.
After hearing Harry's relay of Wood's message, Ron's eyes went wide. A sense of potential crisis washed over him.
Ron had a cheerful personality by nature, and he wasn't usually the type to be bogged down by low self-esteem despite his family's financial situation. However, when this cheerfulness collided with the presence of a girl he liked, complicated emotions inevitably bubbled to the surface like a poorly brewed potion.
"No need!" Hermione rejected the offer quickly, waving her hand. "I don't like keeping pets!"
In truth, Hermione preferred a life of minimal baggage. She could take care of herself, which was already a full-time job in this dangerous world. Why would she bother to keep a pet that needed feeding and cleaning?
All in all, Hermione was a pragmatic person who preferred efficiency over cute companionship.
Harry smiled wryly, scratching the back of his head. "Senior Wood is a person who seems to keep his word. I think he will have already bought a pet by the time I see him tomorrow..."
Hermione sighed, looking speechlessly at the ceiling. "Then give it to you!"
Harry's smile grew more strained. "I already have Hedwig."
"Give it to Ron then," Hermione said decisively. She didn't want it anyway.
Ron stood there, dumbfounded. He pointed to his pocket, where a lump was sleeping. "I have Scabbers..."
However, looking at Hermione's face, he swallowed his protest. If Hermione really sent him a pet—even if it was an apology gift from someone else—he would not refuse. He would help Hermione raise it. It would be... their beetle. Or whatever it was.
While the three of them were talking, they wandered through the castle, eventually passing through the Trophy Room.
Glass cases lined the walls, filled with gold, silver, and bronze awards that gleamed in the dim light. The smell of metal polish and old velvet hung in the air.
Ron stopped, his eyes scanning a specific cabinet.
"Harry, look!" Ron pointed at a shield. "No wonder you have such a talent for Quidditch."
Hermione also looked over. On a polished silver plaque, the name James Potter was impressively engraved, identifying him as a Seeker.
Harry leaned in, his breath fogging the glass slightly. He stared at the name.
It was his father.
It turned out that once, in this very school, James Potter was also a Quidditch player, and his ability was outstanding enough to win this commemorative and glorious trophy.
At this moment, Harry, who had grown up an orphan treated like a burden, was filled with a warm, swelling sense of honor. He saw his reflection superimposed over his father's name.
He made up his mind right then. He must also work hard to train for Quidditch, to get the same honor as his father in future games, and not lose his father's face.
"Harry," Ron whispered, his voice full of awe. "I didn't expect your father to be so powerful."
Facing Ron's admiration, Harry smiled modestly, though his eyes shone. "I didn't expect that either..."
The three of them left the Trophy Room and began to ascend one of Hogwarts' many staircases.
Suddenly, the stone beneath their feet gave a sickening lurch.
"Harry, where is this spiral staircase going to take us?" Ron asked, grabbing the banister as the entire structure began to grind and rotate.
The staircase shifted, moving away from the landing they intended and locking into place with a heavy thud against a different corridor.
When they stepped off, the air felt different. Colder. Heavier.
They were on the Fourth Floor. The Restricted Area that Dumbledore had forbidden students from entering at the start-of-term feast.
The Third Floor corridor on the right-hand side, Dumbledore had said. For those who do not wish to die a most painful death.
"We shouldn't be here," Harry frowned, realizing where they were. This sudden change was something he hadn't expected.
Hermione was a little nervous. She looked down the dark, foreboding hallway.
"Maybe we should get out of here as soon as possible," she whispered.
Facing the unknown danger, Hermione flinched a little. If they left here now, although the unspoken System option task (to explore the corridor) would fail, at least she wouldn't be in danger.
Ron, currently acting as Hermione's loyal follower, nodded vigorously. His performance was completely different from the original story where he might have argued. Here, he agreed with Hermione's proposal instantly.
"I think Hermione's proposal is right for safety reasons," Ron said, glancing around nervously. "If we are discovered by Professor McGonagall or Headmaster Dumbledore, we will be finished."
The atmosphere started to get weird.
It seemed that there were unknown and terrifying forces interfering here, and the deepening night outside the windows was the source of fear.
However, just when Harry was about to turn back to the stairs, a shadow detached itself from the gloom.
A cat with dust-colored fur and bulging, lamp-like eyes suddenly jumped out.
"It's Mrs. Norris!" Harry hissed. "Argus Filch's cat!!"
Argus was a giant with one hundred eyes in Greek mythology, a fitting namesake for Mr. Filch, who frequently observed students' behavior secretly.
Filch was the caretaker, a person hated by almost all the students. He had a bad temper and an extremely weird, bitter personality. His greatest hobby seemed to be waging war against the student body.
Filch had some twisted characteristics, which stemmed from his bad life experience. He was not only ugly, with a hunchback and wheezing breath, but he was also a Squib.
A Squib is someone born to wizard parents but with no magical talent of their own. In the wizarding world, this was often seen as a source of shame. Destined to be ridiculed, this tragic experience created Filch's bitter character.
In his bones, he hated children who were born with the magic he lacked. So, he used the convenience of his job to find fault with everything.
At this moment, Mrs. Norris let out a hiss. She stared at them with her red, unblinking eyes.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Heavy, wheezing footsteps echoed from the darkness ahead.
"Run!" Harry whispered.
"No, we must hide," Hermione corrected, panic rising in her chest.
At this moment, the three of them reached a consensus. They scrambled down the corridor, away from the footsteps. They reached a door at the end of the hall.
Harry grabbed the handle. It was locked.
"What should I do? Harry, this door can't be opened!" Ron wailed, his voice cracking. He looked back. Mrs. Norris was watching them, and the shadow of Filch was growing larger on the wall.
"Let me!"
Hermione pushed past them. She didn't want to steal the spotlight, but she had come here at a risk to complete the optional task. Otherwise, she would have left Ron and Harry for a beauty sleep ages ago. She didn't want to be caught by Filch directly.
Hermione quickly took out her wand, Windmourne. She could feel the magical energy humming in the wood.
She remembered the spell from the Primary Magic Book the System had rewarded her with.
"Alohomora!"
She tapped the lock.
Click.
The mechanism turned.
"Hermione, you are amazing," Ron breathed, casting an admiring glance at her.
"Now is not the time to talk about this, let's go in quickly!"
The three little guys hurried to open the door and rushed inside, slamming it shut just as a lantern light swung around the corner.
They pressed their ears against the wood, hearts pounding like drums.
"Anyone here, my sweet?" Filch's voice rasped from the other side. "You found the intruder, right?"
There was a pause. Filch seemed to be listening.
"Nothing here..." he muttered. Then, strangely, he sounded unconcerned. "Come on, Mrs. Norris. They're not in there."
Filch seemed to know what was behind the door, and he was not worried about students hiding inside. He shuffled away, his footsteps fading into the distance.
Ron and Harry let out a long breath, sliding down the door slightly.
"We're safe," Harry whispered.
"Why does Hogwarts list this place as a restricted area?" Ron complained, wiping sweat from his forehead. "It's just a dusty old room."
Hermione didn't answer. She was staring into the darkness of the room.
The smell hit her first—a thick, overpowering stench of musk, rotting meat, and wet fur. Then, she heard the sound.
A low, rumbling growl that vibrated in her chest.
"Harry... Ron..." Hermione whispered, her voice trembling. "There is a reason why this place is listed as a restricted area!"
Harry and Ron turned around.
As their eyes adjusted to the gloom, they saw it.
Standing before them was a dog. But not just any dog. It was a monster of colossal proportions, filling the space from floor to ceiling.
It had three massive heads.
Three pairs of rolling, mad eyes; three noses twitching in their direction; three drooling mouths, saliva hanging in slippery ropes from yellow fangs.
It was Fluffy.
The beast was standing quite still, all six eyes fixed on them. The only reason they weren't dead already was that their sudden entrance had taken it by surprise. But it was recovering quickly, and its thunderous growls were leaving no doubt as to what was going to happen next.