Always You

Later on, Harry came back after the lessons ended with a smile on his face.

“What did McGonagall want?” said Charles

“She wanted me on the Gryffindor’s quidditch team as a seeker”

“What? ”

“She got me on the team as a seeker”

“You’re joking ”

Ron had a piece of steak and kidney pie halfway to his mouth, but he’d forgotten all about it.

“Seeker?” he said. “But first years never.. you must be the youngest House player in about–”

“A century,” said Harry, shoveling pie into his mouth. “Wood told me.”

Ron was so amazed, so impressed, he just sat and gaped at Harry. 

Charles on the other hand was stunned. Harry was for sure amazing and was perfect for the seeker position, plus there was just that space left on the team, but he could not avoid feeling uncomfortable. 

No. That was not the word.

He was jealous .

He didn’t want to be so, he was happy for his friend. But it was inevitable. Charles had practiced since he could remember to be the best player and was planning to do so. He was jealous of his friend having the opportunity to be on the team earlier. He had to say something, but couldn’t stop thinking: Why not me? Am I not enough?

“I’m really happy for you Harry, that’s actually so cool.” he said, trying not to sound fake. He really was happy, but he could not show the fact that he wished that was him.

“Thank you, Charles. Yeah! I’m really excited,” he said. “I start training next week — Just don’t tell anyone. Wood wants to keep it a secret.”

“Sur–”

Fred and George Weasley now came into the hall and hurried over interrupting the two boys.

“Well done,” said George in a low voice. “Wood told us. We’re on the team too, both Beaters.”

“I tell you, we’re going to win that Quidditch Cup for sure this year,” said Fred. “We haven’t won since our 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.”

“Anyway, we’ve got to go, Lee Jordan reckons he’s found a new secret passageway out of the school.”

“Bet it’s that one behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy that we found in our first week. See you.”

Fred and George had hardly disappeared when someone far less welcome turned up: Malfoy, flanked by Crabbe and Coyle.

“Having a last meal. Potter? When are you getting the train back to the Muggles?”

“You’re a lot braver now that you’re back on the ground and you’ve got your little friends with you,” said Harry. So fucking cool . He thought, although ‘cool’ didn’t feel enough. 'Hot' maybe was the word. he caught himself staring at Harry and look away quickly.

There was of course nothing at all little about Crabbe and Coyle, but as the High Table was full of teachers, neither of them would do more than crack their knuckles and scowl.

“I’d take you on anytime on my own,” said Malfoy. “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?”

I wanna see your face when you see that he’s on the quidditch team. All his other thoughts disappeared when malfoy appeared.

“Of course he has,” said Ron, wheeling around. “We’re his second, who’s yours?” said Ron, grabbing Charles’ arm.

Malfoy looked at Crabbe and Goyle, sizing them up.

“These two,” he said “Midnight all right? Well meet you in the trophy room; that’s always unlocked.”

When Malfoy had gone, Ron and Harry looked at each other.

“What is a wizard’s duel?” said Harry. “And what do you mean, you’re my second?”

“Well, a second's there to take over if you die,” said Ron casually, getting started at last on his cold pie.

“But people only die in proper duels, you know, with real wizards. The most you and Malfoy will 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.” said Charles, catching the look on Harry’s face.

“And what if I wave my wand and nothing happens?”

“Throw it away and punch him on the nose,” Charles suggested. And Ron agreed, nodding his head.

“Excuse me.”

They both looked up. It was Hermione Granger. She was sitting next to them with Ella.

“Can’t a person eat in peace in this place?” said Ron.

Hermione ignored him and spoke directly to Harry.

“I couldn't help overhearing what you and Malfoy were saying —”

“Bet you could,” Ron muttered. 

“— and you mustn’t go wandering around the school at night, think of the points you’ll lose Gryffindor if you’re caught, and you’re bound to be. It’s really very selfish of you.”

“And it’s really none of your business,” said Harry. Charles looked at his sister, wondering how she could be friends with her.

“Goodbye,” said Ron.

It wasn’t what you’d call the perfect end to the day. He and Ron had spent all evening giving Harry 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 on the inside he wished they had some detention rather than lose to Malfoy. He tried looking for defensive spells just in case in his books and told his green-eyed friend what he already knew.

“Half-past eleven,” Ron muttered at last, “we’d better go.”

They pulled on their bathrobes, picked up their wands, and crept across the tower room, down the spiral staircase, and into the Gryffindor common room. A few embers were still glowing in the fireplace, turning all the armchairs into hunched black shadows. They had almost reached the portrait hole when a voice spoke from the chair nearest them, “I can’t believe you’re going to do this, Harry.”

A lamp flickered on. It was Hermione Granger, wearing a pink bathrobe and a frown.

“You!” said Ron furiously. “Go back to bed!”

“And you,” now turning to Charles. “I can’t believe you’re Ells’ brother! Being okay with this!”

“I almost told your brother,” Hermione snapped to Ron, “Percy — he’s a prefect, he’d put a stop to this.”

“Come on,” Harry said to them. He pushed open the portrait of the Fat Lady and climbed through the hole.

Hermione wasn’t going to give up that easily, of course. She followed Ron through the portrait hole, hissing at them like an angry goose.

“Don’t you care about Gryffindor, do you only care about yourselves, I don’t want Slytherin to win the House Cup, and you'll lose all the points I got from Professor McGonagall for knowing about Switching Spells.”

“Go away.”

“All right, but I warned you, you just remember what I said when you’re on the train home tomorrow, you’re so..”

But what they were, they didn’t find out. Hermione had turned to the portrait of the Fat Lady to get back inside and found herself facing an empty painting.

The Fat Lady had gone on a nighttime visit and Hermione was locked out of Gryffindor Tower.

“Now what am I going to do?” she asked shrilly.

“That’s your problem,” said Ron. “We’ve got to go, we’re going to be late.”

They hadn’t even reached the end of the corridor when Hermione caught up with them.

“I’m coming with you,” she said.

“You are not.”

“D’you think I’m going to stand out here and wait for Filch to catch me? 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 —” said Ron too loudly. He was starting to get annoyed by their fighting. He was grateful with Harry interrupting them.

“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.

It wasn’t Mrs. Norris, for their luck. It was Neville. He was curled up on the floor, fast asleep, but jerked suddenly awake as they crept nearer.

“Thank goodness you found me! I’ve been out here for hours, I couldn’t remember the new password to get in to bed.”

“Keep your voice down, Neville. The password’s ‘Pig snout’ but it won’t help you now, the Fat Lady’s gone off somewhere.” said Charles.

“How’s your arm?” said Harry.

“Fine,” said Neville, showing them. “Madam Pomfrey mended it in about a minute.”

“Good. Well, look, Neville, we’ve got to be somewhere, well 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.”

Next to him, 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 Quirrell told us about, and used it on you.”

Hermione opened her mouth, probably 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, Goyle and Crabbe weren’t there yet. The crystal trophy eases glimmered where the moonlight caught them. Cups, shields, plates, and statues winked silver and gold in the darkness. They edged along the walls, keeping their eyes on the doors at either end of the room. The minutes crept by, he took out his wand just in case they appeared out of nowhere.

“He’s late, maybe he’s chickened out,” Ron whispered.

Then a noise in the next room made them jump.

Harry had only just raised his wand when they heard someone speak but it wasn’t Malfoy.

“Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner.”

Filch.

Harry waved madly at the other four to follow him as quickly as possible; they scurried silently toward the door, away from Filch’s voice. Neville’s robes had barely whipped round the corner when they heard Filch enter the trophy room.

“They’re in here somewhere,” they heard him mutter, “probably hiding.”

“This way!” Harry mouthed to the others and, petrified, they began to creep down a long gallery full of suits of armor. They could hear Filch getting nearer. Neville suddenly let out a frightened squeak and broke into a run, he tripped, grabbed Ron around the waist, and the pair of them toppled right into a suit of armor.

The clanging and crashing were enough to wake the whole castle.

“RUN!” Harry yelled, and the five of them sprinted down the gallery, not looking back to see whether Filch was following — they swung around the doorpost and galloped down one corridor then another, Harry in the lead, without any idea where they were or where they were going — they ripped through a tapestry and found themselves in a hidden passageway, hurtled along it and came out near their Charms classroom, which they knew was miles from the trophy room.

“I think we’ve lost him,” Harry panted, leaning against the cold wall and wiping his forehead. Neville was bent double, wheezing and spluttering.

“I — told — you,” Hermione gasped, clutching at the stitch in her chest, “I — told — you.”

“We’ve got to get baek to Gryffindor Tower,” said Ron, “quickly as possible.” They all nodded.

“Malfoy tricked you,” Hermione said to Harry. “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.”

“Yes we do, Hermione. It’s pretty obvious” said Charles.

“Let’s just 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.

It was Peeves. He caught sight of them and gave a squeal of delight.

“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 naughty.”

“Not if you don’t give us away. Peeves, please.”

“Should tell Filch, I should,” said Peeves in a sanity voice, but his eyes glittered wickedly. “It’s for your own good, you know.”

“Get out of the way,” snapped Ron, taking a swipe at Peeves — this was a big mistake.

“STUDENTS OUT OF BED!” Peeves bellowed, “STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!”

Ducking under Peeves, they ran for their lives, right to the end of the corridor where they slammed into a door — and it was locked.

“This is it!” Ron moaned, as they pushed helplessly at the door, “We’re done for! This is the end!”

They could hear footsteps, Filch running as fast as he could toward Peeves’s shouts.

“Oh, move over,” Hermione snarled. She grabbed Harry’s wand, tapped the look, and whispered, “Alohomora” of course.

The look clicked and the door swung open — they piled through it, shut it quickly, and pressed their ears against it, listening.

“Which way did they go, Peeves?” Filch was saying. “Quick, tell me.”

“Say ‘please.’ ”

“Don’t mess with me. Peeves, now where did they go?”

“Shan’t say nothing if you don’t say please,” said Peeves in his annoying singsong voice.

“All right — please.”

“NOTHING! Ha haaa! Told you I wouldn’t say ‘nothing’ if you didn’t say please! Ha ha! Haaaaaa!” And they heard the sound of Peeves whooshing away and Filch eursing in rage.

“He thinks this door is locked,” Harry whispered. “I think well be okay — get off, Neville!” For Neville had been tugging on the sleeve of Harry’s bathrobe for the last minute. “What?”

Harry had  turned around — and saw, quite clearly, what they were all seeing.

They weren’t in a room, they were in a corridor. The forbidden corridor on the third floor. And now they knew why it was forbidden.

They were looking straight into the eyes of a monstrous dog, a dog that filled the whole space between ceiling and floor. It had three heads. Three pairs of rolling, mad eyes; three noses, twitching and quivering in their direction; three drooling mouths, saliva hanging in slippery ropes from yellowish fangs.

It was standing quite still, all six eyes staring at them, and they 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.

Harry groped for the doorknob — between Filch and death, he’d take Filch.

They fell backward — Harry slammed the door shut, and they ran, they almost flew, back down the corridor. Filch must have hurried off to look for them somewhere else, because they didn’t see him anywhere, but they hardly cared — all they wanted to do was put as much space as possible between them and that monster. They didn’t stop running until they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady on the seventh floor.

“Where on earth have you all been?” she asked, looking at their bathrobes 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.”

She stood up, glaring at them.

“I hope you’re pleased with yourselves. Now, if you don’t mind. I’m going to bed, before either of you come with another clever idea to get us killed, or worse, expelled.”

Ron stared after her, his mouth open.

“No, we don’t mind,” he said. “You’d think we dragged her along, wouldn’t you?”

But Hermione had given Charles something to think about as he was getting ready to sleep. The dog was guarding something. Maybe they could talk to Hagrid about it.  There were many things to think about now. What was the dog hiding, that stupid dream and the letter he still hadn't read, Harry had asked him for some help with quidditch since Ron said ‘he was good at it’, Malfoy, and of course, their classes. He decided to have a rest, it was too much for a single day.