The Third Floor Corridor
Harry would never have thought it possible to meet a boy more odious than Dudley; that was before he met Draco Malfoy. Fortunately, the first-year Gryffindors only shared Potions class with the Slytherins, so they didn’t have to endure him for too long. Or at least, that was the case until a notice appeared on the Gryffindor common room board that made everyone groan in despair. Starting the following Thursday, flying lessons would commence, with Gryffindor and Slytherin taking them together.
"Just great," Ron commented with a theatrical sigh. "As if it wasn’t bad enough already, now we have to put up with that git Malfoy ten meters off the ground."
"I can’t wait," Harry replied with a smile that surprised Ron. "Sirius told me that when I was little, I loved zooming around on my toy broomstick. He said it was hard to get me to come down."
Ron looked at him, astonished. "So, you’re already an expert?"
Harry shrugged. "Expert, no. But I don’t see why I should be worried. Besides," he added, with a gleam in his green eyes, "if Malfoy’s really as good as he says, it’ll be fun to knock him down a peg."
During breakfast in the Great Hall, the conversation inevitably turned to flying. Ron and Dean, seated across from each other, had resumed their now-familiar debate: football versus Quidditch.
"I just don’t get it," Ron said, shaking his head as he spread butter on a slice of bread. "Only one ball, Dean? And no one flying? Where’s the fun in that?"
Dean laughed. "And what’s so great about Quidditch? Three balls, a thousand rules, and no one can tell what’s going on."
Harry, amused, chimed in. "Ron, football isn’t bad... Would you like to see a live match? A First Division one? I could take you to see Arsenal sometime."
Dean, affronted as a die-hard fan, leaned forward with a challenging look. "Arsenal? Really, Harry? And here I thought you had some taste. West Ham all the way, you know that."
Harry chuckled. "Dean, when we played at the park on Magnolia Crescent, I didn’t think West Ham was all that unbeatable."
Dean threw a piece of bread at Harry, laughing. "Big words for someone who supports a team that hasn’t seen a trophy in decades!"
Parvati, who had been silent until then, joined the conversation enthusiastically. "I don’t know anything about football, but I love Quidditch. My favorite team is the Holyhead Harpies. Their Seeker is incredible."
Ron turned to her, surprised. "The Harpies? I wouldn’t have expected girls to like Quidditch."
Parvati shrugged with a smile, while Hermione looked indignant beside her. "What’s so strange about it? Can’t I follow Quidditch because it’s not girly enough?" Parvati replied nonchalantly.
Meanwhile, Neville, Lavender, and Hermione seemed less thrilled. Lavender looked like she’d prefer to discuss anything else, Neville appeared worried at the thought of flying, and Hermione was fiddling with a big book she had clearly borrowed from the library.
"Ron, that’s not fair… girls can like Quidditch too. You shouldn’t label interests by gender… and anyway, I don’t think Quidditch is that great," said Hermione in her know-it-all tone. "Dean, if you want to learn about Quidditch, you should read Quidditch Through the Ages. It’s full of useful information."
Neville leaned toward her, hoping to glean some advice that might help him avoid a disastrous fall during the lesson. "Does it say how to stay on a broom?" he asked shyly.
Hermione smiled encouragingly. "Actually, yes. It talks about balance, posture, and staying calm. I can explain it to you if you want."
"No thanks," Ron muttered under his breath, quiet enough not to be heard. "The last thing I need is flying tips from her…"
Harry chuckled, and the debate about Quidditch resumed with fervor: Seamus, Ron, and Parvati were all trying to convince the others of their teams’ superiority.
Hermione sighed and looked up from her book. "Honestly, I don’t see why flying excites you so much. It’s just balance and focus."
Ron stared at her, incredulous. "Balance and focus? Hermione, you could make the most exciting thing in the world sound boring!"
Their argument was interrupted by a general buzz: the mail was arriving. Harry threw one last glance at Ron, who was still trying to convince Dean that Quidditch was better than football, and sipped his tea, thinking about the upcoming Thursday with a mixture of impatience and excitement.
Hedwig landed in front of Harry and handed him a letter. Harry opened it. It was from Sirius. He lit up and began to read, almost hearing his godfather’s voice in his mind.
Harry,
Don’t worry too much about Snape. I knew him well, and that’s just how he is: he feeds off the reactions he gets from others. If he makes you angry, he considers it a victory. Ignore him and show you’re above it; that’s the best revenge.
As for your flying lesson, I can’t wait to hear how it goes. I bet you’ll zip around like lightning, just like your father. The first time I saw you on a toy broomstick, you were just a year old, but you were unstoppable. Have fun and remember: the key is to stay focused. Let me know how it goes!
Love, Sirius
Harry smiled, folding the letter carefully. Hearing Sirius’s support filled him with confidence. Then his attention was drawn to Neville, who was opening a package delivered by a barn owl. The boy excitedly revealed a glass ball filled with white smoke.
"A Remembrall!" Neville exclaimed. "It helps you remember if you’ve forgotten something. Look, you hold it tight like this, and—oh!" The ball immediately turned red. "That means I’ve forgotten something…"
While Neville scratched his head, trying to figure out what he’d forgotten, Draco Malfoy approached with a sneer, accompanied by his usual cronies. In addition to Crabbe and Goyle, there were also Nott and Zabini, the other two Slytherins in their year.
Nott, with his pale face and cold eyes, observed the scene with a calculating expression, as if evaluating Malfoy’s every move. Zabini, by contrast, stood out for his elegant and aloof demeanor; he watched Neville with a raised eyebrow, as though he had just been disturbed by an irrelevant observation.
"Interesting, Longbottom," Malfoy said mockingly, snatching the Remembrall from Neville’s hand. "Does this thing tell you you’re a walking disaster?"
Neville flushed a deep red, while Ron and Harry jumped to their feet simultaneously. Dean and Seamus joined them, forming a united front against Malfoy and his friends.
"Put it back on the table, Malfoy," Harry said firmly, locking eyes with him.
Malfoy looked back at him with his usual sarcastic smile. "Oh, look, rescued by the famous Harry Potter. What a hero!" He twirled the Remembrall between his fingers. "You know, Potter, I thought you had more important things to do than protect a Longbottom."
Zabini smirked slightly, amused by the situation, while Nott continued to observe with a cold but attentive gaze, ready to step in if necessary.
"Put it back, Malfoy," Ron repeated, clenching his fists. "Or we’ll help you do it."
Malfoy stared at Ron, weighing the situation. Even with his cronies, he realized that five against five weren’t favorable odds. Moreover, at that moment, Professor McGonagall swooped in like a thunderbolt.
"What is going on here?"
"Professor, Malfoy took my Remembrall."
Looking thoroughly displeased, Malfoy promptly placed the ball back on the table. "I was just looking," he said, and made a quick exit. Crabbe and Goyle followed immediately, while Nott and Zabini lingered for a moment, exchanging a meaningful glance before trailing after them.
Dean huffed. "Malfoy will never change. One of these days, we’ll put him in his place, right, Harry?"
Harry nodded, watching the Slytherins retreat. Hermione, who had remained seated throughout the incident, quietly commented, "It’s not worth fighting with people like him."
"We’re not fighting, Hermione," Ron retorted sarcastically. "We’re just protecting a friend."
Neville picked up the Remembrall, visibly grateful. "Thanks, guys. You don’t have to keep defending me," he murmured, looking down.
Harry patted him on the shoulder. "No need to thank us. Friends always look out for each other, right?"
Ron muttered something about how great it would be to finally see Malfoy lose his temper, but then they all sat back down.
That afternoon, at three-thirty, Harry, Ron, and the other Gryffindors rushed down the stairs toward the field for their first flying lesson. It was a clear, windy day, and the grass bent under their feet as they ran down the hill to a flat area opposite the park, near the Forbidden Forest, whose treetops swayed darkly in the distance.
The Slytherins were already there, and twenty broomsticks were neatly arranged in rows on the ground. Harry had heard Fred and George complain about the school brooms, saying that if you flew too high, some started to wobble, or veer off course.
Their instructor, Madam Hooch, arrived. She was a short woman with gray hair and hawk-like yellow eyes.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” she barked. “Stand next to a broomstick. Quickly now, hurry!”
Harry looked down at his broom. It was old, with a few twigs sticking out at odd angles.
“Stick out your right hand over your broom,” Madam Hooch instructed, looking at them all, “and say, ‘Up!’”
“UP!” they shouted in unison.
Harry’s broom immediately jumped into his hand with a soft swish, as if it had been waiting for him. A satisfied smile spread across his lips. Sirius had told him that brooms could sense when someone was comfortable with them, and this small success seemed to confirm that. Beside him, Ron and Dean had the same result.
“Up!” Ron called enthusiastically, and his broom promptly obeyed, leaping into his hand. “See? It’s not so hard,” he said with a grin at Seamus, who was glaring at his broom, which remained stubbornly on the ground. Dean, on the other hand, looked pleased with himself as his broom rose at the first attempt. “Maybe I’m a natural,” he joked, watching as Seamus and Neville struggled with theirs.
Neville timidly held out his hand over his broom, but his “Up!” was more of a shaky whisper than a command. The broom remained firmly on the ground. “Erm... Up?” he tried again, slightly louder, but still to no avail.
“You need confidence, Neville,” Harry encouraged him. “Brooms can tell if you’re scared.”
Beside Neville, Hermione was struggling with hers. “Up!” she said with an authoritative tone, but the broom gave a small roll forward, tumbling onto the ground without lifting off. Hermione raised her chin, clearly annoyed. “I don’t think this method is particularly effective,” she commented, shooting a disapproving glance at Madam Hooch, who was watching with an expression of stoic patience.
Seamus, meanwhile, seemed to be trying to charm his broom. “Up, sweetheart, come on,” he said with a crooked smile, but the broom didn’t budge an inch. “Doesn’t even work on brooms. Fantastic,” he muttered, making Dean laugh.
Parvati hesitated before giving it a try, but when she gave her firm command, the broom weakly hopped into her hand. “Not bad,” she said with a small, satisfied smile, while Lavender shook her head in frustration as her broom refused to respond.
“If it doesn’t work the first time, it’ll never work,” Lavender said with a dramatic sigh. “They should at least give us functional brooms.”
“It’s not the brooms’ fault,” Seamus commented with amusement. “Maybe you just don’t know how to handle them.”
Lavender gave him a glare, but the small smile on her face revealed she was more amused than offended. Ron, meanwhile, was watching the Slytherins, noticing that Malfoy was the only one among them who had succeeded. Zabini and Nott were still trying, with mixed results.
Harry nodded, continuing to watch Hermione and Neville, who were both determined to get their brooms to obey. “Come on, Hermione,” Harry encouraged sincerely. “Try relaxing a bit. It works better.”
“Relaxing?” Hermione repeated skeptically. “I’m trying to do it the proper way, Harry, not just ‘relax.’”
Ron smirked. “I knew all your studying would help… make the broom roll a bit further along the ground.”
Hermione shot him a death glare but focused back on her broom. Despite her increasingly commanding tone, the broom seemed intent on defying her.
Meanwhile, Madam Hooch moved among them, correcting postures and offering advice. “You need confidence!” she declared. “Don’t be intimidated by a stick with a bundle of twigs on the end. Command it!”
Harry, Ron, and Dean exchanged satisfied looks: at least in this, they had started off on the right foot.
At that point, Madam Hooch showed everyone how to mount their broomsticks without sliding to the back and then went around the class correcting their grip. Harry and Ron thoroughly enjoyed it when she remarked that Malfoy had been using the wrong grip for years.
“And now, when I blow the whistle, push off strongly with your feet,” Madam Hooch instructed. “Hold your brooms steady and rise about a meter; then come back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle… three… two…”
But Neville, nervous and overexcited, afraid of being left behind, pushed off the ground before the whistle even reached Madam Hooch’s lips.
“Come back here, boy!” she shouted, but Neville was already rising into the air like a cork popping out of a bottle… three meters… six meters… Harry saw his face turn pale as he looked down at the ground, which was growing further away. He saw him gasp for breath and then slip from the broom handle, and—
WHAM! A crash, a sickening thud, and Neville was lying on the grass face down, a crumpled heap. His broomstick soared higher and higher before drifting off toward the Forbidden Forest, disappearing from sight. Madam Hooch knelt beside Neville, whose face was as pale as a sheet.
“Broken wrist,” Harry heard her mutter. “Come on, my dear… it’s nothing. Up you get.” Then she turned to the rest of the class. “Nobody moves while I take him to the hospital wing. Leave your brooms where they are, or you’ll be out of Hogwarts before you can say ‘Quidditch.’ Let’s go, dear.”
Neville, his face streaked with tears and cradling his wrist, hobbled off with Madam Hooch, who had her arm around him.
They had barely left earshot when Malfoy burst into loud laughter.
“Did you see his face, the great lump that he is?” The other Slytherins joined in, laughing at Neville.
“Shut up, Malfoy!” Parvati snapped.
“Oh, are you really defending Longbottom?” said Pansy Parkinson, a Slytherin girl with a sharp-featured face. “I never thought you, Patil, would like crybabies—and fat ones, at that.”
“Look!” said Malfoy, springing forward and picking something up from the grass. “That stupid trinket his granny sent him.”
The Remembrall gleamed in the sunlight as he held it aloft.
“Give that here, Malfoy,” said Harry calmly. The group fell silent at once, eager to see what would happen next.
Malfoy gave him a malicious grin.
“I think I’ll put it somewhere Longbottom will have to fetch it… how about… the top of a tree?”
“Give it to me!” Harry demanded, but Malfoy was already astride his broomstick and had taken off. He hadn’t been lying: he really was a good flyer. Hovering near the upper branches of an oak tree, he called out, “Come and get it, Potter!”
Harry grabbed his broomstick.
“No!” shouted Hermione Granger. “Madam Hooch told us not to move… you’ll get us all in trouble!”
“Mind your own business, Hermione,” Ron said, standing up for Harry, while Harry ignored her. He felt blood pounding in his ears. He mounted the broom, kicked off hard from the ground, and shot into the air, the wind whipping through his hair and tugging at his clothes. In a surge of wild joy, he realized he’d discovered something he could do without needing to study. It was easy, it was wonderful. He tilted the broomstick upward to climb higher, hearing Lavender and Parvati gasp and Ron and Seamus shout in admiration.
He turned sharply to face Malfoy mid-air. Malfoy looked stunned.
“Give it here,” Harry shouted at him, “or I’ll knock you off your broom!”
“Oh yeah?” Malfoy replied with a sneer that didn’t quite hide his unease.
Harry said nothing but leaned forward, gripping the broom tightly with both hands, and shot toward Malfoy like an arrow. Malfoy barely managed to dodge, and Harry veered around sharply, maintaining a firm grip on his broom. Someone on the ground clapped.
“Without Crabbe and Goyle, you’re not so tough up here, are you, Malfoy?” Harry taunted.
Malfoy seemed to realize the same thing. “Catch it if you can!” he shouted, throwing the glass ball into the air and then diving back toward the ground.
Harry saw the ball rise into the air before beginning to fall. He leaned forward and pointed his broomstick downward. Moments later, he was gaining speed in a steep dive, chasing after the ball, the wind roaring in his ears and mingling with the shouts from below. He reached out, and just a few meters from the ground, he caught it, pulling up his broomstick just in time to land smoothly on the grass with the Remembrall intact in his hand.
“HARRY POTTER!”
Harry’s heart plummeted harder than his dive as Professor McGonagall came marching toward them at full speed. He stood up, trembling.
“Never… in all my time at Hogwarts…”
Professor McGonagall’s voice quivered with indignation, and her glasses glinted furiously as she stared at Harry as though he were the root of all evil.
“It wasn’t his fault, Professor…” Parvati began, but McGonagall raised a hand to silence her.
“Be quiet, Miss Patil.”
“But Malfoy…” Ron attempted, clearly agitated.
“That will do, Weasley,” the professor cut him off in a tone that brooked no argument. Then, fixing Harry with a piercing gaze that made his skin crawl, she said, “Potter, follow me immediately.”
Harry swallowed hard, his heart racing. He didn’t dare look at anyone as he followed her, but he felt the weight of everyone’s eyes on him. Behind him, stifled laughs and murmurs rose from the Slytherins. He didn’t need to turn around to know that Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Zabini, and Parkinson were reveling in his apparent downfall.
Harry’s legs felt like lead as he tried to keep up with Professor McGonagall, who strode briskly toward the castle. She hadn’t even glanced at him; each step echoed like a sentence of doom.
It’s over, Harry thought, feeling a lump in his throat. He hadn’t even lasted two weeks.
His mind was flooded with images: the Dursleys' skepticism when they opened the door to find him back; Dudley’s mocking; Uncle Vernon’s scorn; Aunt Petunia’s sharp remarks. He could already picture Uncle Vernon with a triumphant sneer. “I knew it was too good to be true!” he would say.
“I’m sorry, Uncle Vernon, but my crime was protecting someone,” Harry wished he could retort, but the thought gave him no comfort.
And Sirius? Harry thought with even deeper guilt. Sirius had trusted him, encouraged him to be brave and make the most of this experience. And now… Harry couldn’t imagine how he would find the courage to write and explain everything to him.
As McGonagall continued walking, the castle loomed above them, a silent, imposing judge. Harry tried to formulate some kind of defense, but every word got stuck in his throat.
Would she understand that I couldn’t just let him do it? That I couldn’t let Malfoy treat Neville like that?
When they passed through the castle’s great doors, the sound of their footsteps echoed in the quiet corridors. McGonagall said nothing, and Harry felt like a prisoner being led to the gallows. He had no idea where she was taking him, and he didn’t dare ask.
He wanted to appeal for leniency, to explain that he hadn’t had any other choice, but his instincts told him McGonagall wasn’t in the mood to hear excuses.
“That’s it,” Harry thought bitterly. “Goodbye, Hogwarts.”
Harry followed Professor McGonagall through the castle corridors, feeling smaller with each step. He expected to be taken straight to the headmaster’s office. But instead, she turned toward the Charms classroom.
She stopped in front of a wooden door, knocked firmly, and without waiting for a reply, opened it and stuck her head inside.
“Excuse me, Professor Flitwick, may I borrow Wood for a moment?”
"Wood?" Harry thought in confusion; was McGonagall planning to hit him with a stick?
But as he soon discovered, Wood was a person: a burly fifth-year boy, who hesitantly stepped out of the classroom.
“You two, follow me,” said Professor McGonagall. The two boys followed her down the corridor. Wood looked at Harry curiously.
“In here.”
The professor led them into an empty classroom, save for Peeves, who was busy writing rude words on the chalkboard.
“Out, Peeves!” she barked. Peeves threw the chalk into a bin with a loud clatter and vanished, muttering curses. McGonagall slammed the door behind him and turned to face the two boys.
“Potter, this is Oliver Wood. Wood... I’ve found you a Seeker,” she announced, with unexpected satisfaction in her voice.
From puzzled, Wood’s expression turned to one of pure delight. “Are you serious, Professor?”
“You can bet I am,” she replied enthusiastically. “The boy’s a natural talent. I’ve never seen anything like it. Was that your first time on a broomstick, Potter?”
Harry nodded silently. He had no idea what was happening, but it didn’t seem like he was going to be expelled, and slowly he began to feel steadier on his feet.
“He caught that ball with one hand after a twenty-meter dive,” McGonagall told Wood. “And he didn’t even get a scratch. Not even Charlie Weasley could have managed that.”
Now Wood looked like someone whose wildest dreams had suddenly come true.
“Have you ever watched a Quidditch match, Potter?” he asked excitedly. Wood’s eyes sparkled as though he were gazing at a newly discovered treasure. It seemed he couldn’t wait to find out how much his new Seeker knew about the game.
Harry shook his head, slightly embarrassed. “I’ve never seen a live match, no. But since I was little, I’ve listened to games on the radio with my godfather. I follow the Montrose Magpies—my dad’s favorite team. I’ve also read Quidditch Through the Ages, so I think I know the rules pretty well… but I’ve never actually seen a match.”
Wood’s eyes widened. “Never seen a live match?” he asked in disbelief, as if he couldn’t imagine a childhood without Quidditch. Then his expression softened. “Well, that just means your first match will be the one you play in. Nothing better to start with!”
Harry chuckled weakly. He wasn’t entirely sure that playing before seeing a match was as great an idea as Wood seemed to think. But seeing the boy’s enthusiasm, he decided not to argue.
“You know the rules? You know what a Seeker does?” Wood asked, bouncing slightly on his heels as if he couldn’t wait to test Harry’s knowledge.
Harry nodded. “Yes, the Seeker has to find and catch the Golden Snitch. When they catch it, the game ends, and their team earns 150 points. It’s the most important position in the game, but also the hardest. My godfather always told me it requires focus, speed, and… a bit of madness, I think.” He smiled, recalling Sirius laughing heartily as he told stories of daring dives by famous Seekers.
Wood looked at him as though he had just become his personal hero. “Exactly! And it seems like you’ve got what it takes. That dive you made for the Remembrall? Perfect. I couldn’t have asked for better. The Slytherins won’t know what hit them this year.”
Harry blushed slightly but couldn’t help feeling a bit proud. Perhaps, he thought, there really was something he was naturally good at.
“And he’s got the build of a Seeker,” Wood commented, circling Harry and observing him closely. “Light, fast… We’ll need to get him a proper broomstick, Professor… a Nimbus Two Thousand or a Tornado Seven, I’d say.”
“I’ll speak with Professor Dumbledore and see about making an exception to the rule against first years playing. Heaven knows we need a better team than last year’s. The Slytherins flattened us in the last match… I couldn’t look Severus Snape in the eye for weeks…”
Professor McGonagall looked down at Harry over her glasses, her expression stern.
“I expect you to work hard in practice, Potter, or I might change my mind about not punishing you. I suggest you let your godfather know—he might have a nice surprise for you.”
Then, quite suddenly, she smiled.
It was dinner time, and Harry had just finished telling Ron and the others in the dormitory about his meeting with Professor McGonagall and Wood. Ron stared at Harry as if he had just become the hero of a legend, his shepherd’s pie forgotten midway to his mouth.
“Seeker?” Ron said incredulously. “First-years never… you must be the youngest player in the house for…”
“For a century,” Harry finished, chewing a large bite of pie. He was especially hungry after the excitement of the afternoon. “Wood told me.”
Ron shook his head, as if he still couldn’t believe his ears. “Wow, Harry. That’s huge. You must be really good! I tried flying with Charlie’s old broom, and… well, let’s just say I crashed into the chicken coop.”
Dean and Seamus, sitting nearby, didn’t miss the chance to comment. “I knew you had talent, Harry,” Seamus said with a wide grin. “After that dive for the Remembrall, anyone could tell you were born for Quidditch.”
Dean, finishing his pie, added, “You know, Harry, I don’t know much about Quidditch, but I imagine flying must be better than staying on the ground. As long as the brooms don’t act up, that is.”
At that moment, Fred and George Weasley approached the table with triumphant expressions. “Congratulations, Seeker,” Fred said in a low voice, clapping Harry on the shoulder. “Wood told us. We’re on the team too… Beaters.”
“This means the cup is ours this year,” added George with a mischievous smile. “We haven’t won anything since Charlie left, but now we’ve got a secret weapon.”
Harry blushed slightly as the twins walked off, chatting about a supposed secret passage Lee Jordan had discovered. But the moment of peace didn’t last long. The chatter around the table stopped when Draco Malfoy approached, flanked by Crabbe, Goyle, Nott, and Zabini. Their presence was enough to sour the atmosphere.
“Your last meal, Potter?” Malfoy said with a sneer, crossing his arms. “Are you getting ready to take the train back to your beloved Muggles?”
“Funny how much braver you are now that you’re back on the ground with your little friends beside you,” Harry replied coolly.
“With you, I’m ready to fight any time, alone,” Malfoy said. “If you want, even tonight. A wizard’s duel. Only wands… no physical contact. What’s the matter? Never heard of a wizard’s duel?”
Dean, Seamus, and Ron stood up alongside Harry, glaring at the Slytherins.
“I don’t think you’re the one who needs to worry about how to use a wand, Malfoy,” Seamus said with a smirk. “From what I’ve seen, your magic only works to scare off slugs.”
Zabini chuckled softly but stopped immediately when Malfoy shot him a glare. “Shut it, Finnigan,” Malfoy growled. Then he turned back to Harry. “So? Are you up for it? Or are you afraid of being humiliated in front of your little friends?”
“All right,” Harry said calmly, meeting Malfoy’s gaze. “Where and when?”
Malfoy seemed surprised for a moment but quickly recovered. “Midnight, in the Trophy Room. It’s never locked. Nott will be my second.”
“And I’ll be yours, Harry,” Ron said, glaring at Malfoy with defiance. “We’ll see who ends up humiliated.”
“Perfect,” Malfoy said with a satisfied smirk. “See you later, Potter. Don’t be late.”
As the Slytherins walked away, Seamus dropped back into his seat, shaking his head. “Can you believe it? Malfoy challenging Harry. It’s like a kitten going up against a dragon.”
“Yeah,” Dean added, laughing. “And Nott didn’t seem any braver. He looked like Malfoy forced him to be his second.”
“Guys,” Hermione interrupted, approaching with a stern expression. “You can’t be serious. You’re not really thinking of going, are you?”
Ron sighed. “Here comes Professor Granger. Why don’t you mind your own business, Hermione?”
“Because if you get caught, you’ll lose points for the house, and you know it,” she retorted sharply. “It’s selfish. And childish.”
Harry turned to her. “Hermione, this isn’t your business. It’s between me and Malfoy. I don’t want anyone losing points, but he won’t stop unless I do something.”
Hermione looked like she wanted to argue but then just shook her head. “Do what you want, but don’t come crying to me if you get expelled.”
As she walked away, Seamus looked at the others and shook his head. “Well, it’s true: Hermione always knows how to say the most depressing thing in any situation.”
Harry gave a weak smile, but the adrenaline was already building. He knew he wouldn’t sleep that night, anticipating the duel.
It wasn’t exactly the ideal way to end the day, Harry thought much later, as he lay awake listening to Dean and Seamus whispering in the dark. Neville hadn’t returned from the hospital wing yet, and Ron was stretched out on his bed, illuminated only by the faint moonlight filtering through the curtains.
“Harry, are you sure you want to do this?” Dean asked quietly but with concern. “Malfoy isn’t exactly someone who plays fair. Be careful, okay?”
“Yeah, and remember,” Seamus chimed in with his usual exuberance, “if he throws a weird spell at you, hit him first. And if all else fails, a good punch to the face always works.”
Harry smiled, even though he could barely make them out in the dim light. “Thanks, guys. But I don’t think I’ll resort to punches. I’ll try not to make a fool of myself.”
Seamus stifled a laugh. “No chance of that, Harry. Just don’t give him time to think. And if it goes south, we’ll avenge you at breakfast tomorrow.”
“Don’t encourage him,” Dean muttered, though Harry could hear the smile in his voice. “Seriously, though, Harry, be careful. Don’t trust Malfoy or his lot. Especially Nott. That guy seems unpredictable.”
“I will,” Harry promised, sitting up in bed and looking over at Ron, who was slipping on a dressing gown.
“It’s half-past eleven,” Ron whispered. “We’d better go.”
Harry got up and dressed quickly. Ron watched him with a determined look, though the flush in his cheeks betrayed a bit of nervousness. They grabbed their wands and crept down the spiral staircase to the common room.
There, the glow from a few embers in the fireplace cast shadows over the chairs and walls. They were almost at the portrait hole when a voice stopped them.
In the dark hallway, a faint light suddenly appeared, revealing Hermione Granger in a pink dressing gown and a scowling expression. Beside her, Parvati Patil held her arm with an exasperated look.
“Hermione, please, don’t do anything rash,” Parvati was saying, her tone imploring. “It’s not worth getting in trouble for them.”
“You!” Ron growled furiously, pointing a finger at Hermione. “Go back to bed! We don’t need your help or your lectures.”
Hermione, undeterred, pulled free of Parvati’s grasp and raised her chin resolutely. “I was about to go to Percy,” she announced defiantly. “He’s a prefect, and he’ll know how to stop this madness. It’s the only sensible thing to do.”
“Oh, brilliant,” Ron scoffed sarcastically. “And maybe you’d like to hand us over to Filch as well? Perhaps Mrs. Norris can bring tea?”
Harry sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Hermione, can’t you just leave us alone? This isn’t your concern.”
Parvati, clearly fed up, tried once more to intervene. “Hermione, really. This isn’t your business. If they want to get into trouble, let them.”
Hermione turned to her, her eyes flashing. “Parvati, don’t you understand? If they get caught, we’ll lose points for Gryffindor, and we’ll all pay the price. Someone has to stop them!”
Parvati shrugged. “Not me. If they want to get themselves expelled, that’s their problem. I know it won’t be your fault. But I don’t want you getting into trouble for this either. You’re too good for that. Come back to the dormitory.”
“I can’t just let them do this!” Hermione replied, exasperated.
“Oh, yes, you can,” insisted Parvati. “Look, we’ll go back to the dormitory and forget all about it. Let them explain themselves to McGonagall in the morning.”
Harry couldn’t believe how meddlesome people could be. “Let’s go,” he said to Ron, exhaling in frustration. He pushed open the portrait of the Fat Lady and climbed through the hole in the wall.
But Hermione had no intention of giving up. She followed them briskly, hissing at Ron like an angry goose. “You don’t care about Gryffindor! You only care about yourselves!” she said in a shrill tone that echoed down the hallway. “I don’t want Slytherin to win the House Cup, and you’ll lose all the points I earned from Professor McGonagall when she questioned me about Transfiguration!”
“Go away,” Ron snapped brusquely, exasperated.
At that moment, Parvati appeared as well, her face visibly annoyed and her arms crossed. “It’s not like I didn’t try,” she said resignedly, casting a glance at Hermione. “I told her to let it go, but she’s as stubborn as a mule.”
Hermione pressed her lips together stubbornly. “Fine, but I warned you,” she retorted defiantly. “Remember what I said when you’re on the train back home tomorrow. You’re nothing but—”
Harry and Ron never found out how she would finish the sentence. Hermione had turned back toward the portrait of the Fat Lady to return inside, only to find the frame empty: the Fat Lady had gone for a nighttime stroll. Hermione froze, visibly shocked.
“What am I supposed to do now?” she shrieked, panic creeping into her voice.
Ron rolled his eyes. “That’s your problem,” he said dryly. “We have to go, or we’ll be late.”
So Harry and Ron left the two girls behind and were nearly at the other end of the corridor when a voice stopped them.
“Wait!” Hermione caught up to them, her face flushed and her eyes shining with determination. “I’m coming with you.”
“Absolutely not!” Ron protested, sighing in exasperation. “We’re not dragging you and your lectures along.”
Hermione raised her chin, unyielding. “Do you think I’m going to stay out here and wait for Filch to find me? If he catches all four of us, I’ll tell the truth: that Parvati and I were trying to stop you. And you’ll back me up!”
Harry groaned, and Ron ran a hand through his hair in frustration. Parvati rolled her eyes.
“Merlin, we can’t take a whole delegation with us!” Ron snapped. “Hermione, you’re unbearable, but at least Parvati hasn’t done anything to deserve this madness.”
“Thanks for the thought, Ron,” Parvati replied with an ironic smile. “But if the Fat Lady is gone, we can’t go back even if we wanted to. Not that Hermione wanted to, obviously.”
Hermione raised her chin with determination. “I’m not staying here to get caught by Filch. If he finds all four of us, I’ll explain I was trying to stop you.”
“Brilliant,” Harry muttered sarcastically. “And maybe we’ll tell him we were organizing a surprise party for him.”
Parvati stifled a laugh, while Ron shook his head. “Fine, fine! Come, but don’t say a word and don’t make any noise.”
Hermione hurried after them, visibly pleased, while Parvati followed with an expression halfway between amused and resigned.
“If we get into trouble, just know I was completely against this,” Parvati whispered as the group ventured into the dark corridors.
“Don’t you start too,” Ron grumbled. “Let’s go before Filch shows up,” Harry added pragmatically.
As the four of them proceeded, Ron and Hermione kept bickering, and Harry was at his limit.
“Shut up, both of you!” he snapped. “I heard something.”
A faint noise, almost like snoring, made them freeze in place.
“Mrs. Norris?” Ron whispered, peering into the shadows ahead.
It wasn’t Mrs. Norris. It was Neville. He was curled up on the floor, his face etched with exhaustion. He was fast asleep, but as soon as the five of them got closer, Neville woke with a start, springing to his feet.
“Thank goodness you found me!” he exclaimed, his voice trembling. “I’ve been here for hours. I couldn’t remember the password to get in.”
“Keep your voice down, Neville,” Harry hissed, glancing warily down the corridor. “The password is ‘pig snout,’ but it won’t help now. The Fat Lady has gone for a walk.”
“How’s your arm?” Harry asked, trying to calm him.
“It’s fine,” Neville replied, showing his now perfectly healed arm. “Madam Pomfrey fixed it in no time. But after that, I couldn’t remember how to get back…”
“Right,” Harry said. “Neville, we have to go somewhere. We’ll see you later…”
Neville’s eyes widened. “Don’t leave me here alone!” he pleaded, clasping his hands together. “I don’t want to be stuck here with the Bloody Baron roaming the halls.”
Ron glanced at his watch, then at Hermione and Parvati. “Fine,” he sighed. “But if you get caught, I swear I’ll learn that Ghost Curse Quirrell told us about and use it on you.”
Hermione opened her mouth to retort, but Parvati quickly gave her a light push on the shoulder. “Arguing won’t help,” she said resignedly. “There are five of us now. Let’s go.”
They ventured through the corridors, illuminated here and there by moonlight. Every time they turned a corner, Harry expected to run into Filch or Mrs. Norris, but so far, they’d been lucky. They hurried up a staircase to the third floor, holding their breath to avoid making too much noise. When they reached the Trophy Room, they stopped to observe carefully.
The Slytherins hadn’t arrived yet. The glass cases gleamed faintly, reflecting the moonlight in a thousand golden and silver flashes. Harry drew his wand, ready for anything. The minutes ticked by slowly and silently, and the thought that Malfoy might have chickened out began to creep in.
“Maybe he got scared,” Ron whispered with a grin.
A noise in the next room made them jump. Harry raised his wand sharply, but it wasn’t Malfoy.
“Sniff around in here, my sweet. They might be hiding in a corner,” said a raspy voice.
Harry froze. “Filch!” he whispered to the others.
Horrified, he gestured for everyone to move quickly toward the opposite door. Their footsteps were barely audible on the stone floor, but the adrenaline made them sound like the drumbeat of war. The hem of Neville’s robe disappeared around the corner just as Filch entered the Trophy Room.
“They’re here somewhere…” they heard him mutter.
“This way,” Harry whispered, guiding them into a gallery lined with suits of armor. The sound of Filch’s footsteps grew louder, and Harry began to fear they’d been discovered. Suddenly, Neville tripped over a raised edge of the floor, instinctively grabbed Ron, and crashed into a suit of armor.
The clattering was deafening. The sound of metal crumpling and bouncing echoed throughout the corridor.
“RUN!” Harry shouted, and all five of them took off as if their lives depended on it. They sprinted through corridors, turned corners without knowing where they were going, and finally found a hidden passage behind a tattered tapestry. They burst through it at full speed, emerging near the Charms classroom.
“I think we lost him,” Harry panted, leaning against a wall.
“I told you so!” Hermione murmured, breathless but still managing to give them an accusatory glare.
Ron ignored her. “We need to get back to Gryffindor Tower, now.”
“You can’t deny it,” Hermione said sharply. “Malfoy tricked you. He never intended to duel. Filch knew exactly where you’d be!”
Harry couldn’t help but think Hermione was right, but he had no intention of admitting it. “Let’s go,” he said curtly.
“Harry’s right. Arguing doesn’t change anything now,” Parvati whispered, and all five of them prepared to move on. They hadn’t gone ten steps when the doorknob of a nearby door creaked. Peeves burst out with a leap, letting out a shriek of glee.
“Little brats out of bed? Ahahaha! You’ll be expelled, expelled, expelled!”
“Peeves, please,” Parvati begged. “Don’t snitch on us.”
Peeves grinned, floating above them. “Maybe I should… Filch is just around the corner…”
“Get out of the way!” Ron shouted, trying to push him aside.
A fatal mistake.
“STUDENTS OUT OF BED!” Peeves began to bellow. “IN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!”
Harry didn’t wait another second. “Run!” he shouted, and the group bolted forward, their footsteps thundering in the silence of the night. They turned a corner but found themselves facing a locked door.
“We’re done for,” Ron said, desperately pushing against the solid wood.
Filch was getting closer. “Does anyone know a spell to open this door?” Harry asked, panic rising in his chest.
Hermione pulled out her wand with trembling hands. “Alohomora!” she whispered.
The corridor fell into an eerie silence, broken only by their quick breaths and the rustle of robes brushing the floor. The group froze in front of the locked door, breathing heavily.
“This is the end of the line,” Ron said despondently, shoving against the heavy wood in vain. “We’re doomed!”
Behind them, Filch’s footsteps grew closer, accompanied by Mrs. Norris’s meows. Harry glanced at Hermione and Parvati, but it was the latter who spoke first.
“Hermione, if you’ve got any spells in mind, now would be the time to use them,” she said, trying not to sound too alarmed.
“I’m trying to remember the incantation,” Hermione snapped, her face tight with concentration. “Quiet!”
Harry’s heart pounded harder as Filch’s footsteps seemed to stop right around the corner. Finally, Hermione pulled out her wand with trembling hands. “Alohomora!” she whispered.
A faint click signaled the lock had opened, and the door swung open. They all rushed inside, slamming the door shut and leaning against it to listen.
“Peeves, where did they go?” Filch’s voice was sharp and frustrated.
“Ahaha! Not telling you!” Peeves cackled maniacally.
“Peeves, stop playing games! Tell me where they went!”
“Ask nicely…”
“Please!”
“NOPE! Hahaha!”
Filch cursed loudly, but his footsteps receded, indicating he was searching elsewhere.
“I think we’re safe,” Harry whispered. “But…” he trailed off, noticing Neville nervously tugging at the sleeve of his robe. “What is it, Neville?”
Neville said nothing but pointed ahead of them. Harry turned, and his stomach twisted into knots. They weren’t in an ordinary room.
The corridor was vast and dimly lit, but their eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness. There, a few meters away, stood a monstrous dog. Harry froze in fear. This wasn’t an ordinary dog: it had three massive heads, each staring at the group with a wild, ferocious glare. Its slobbering jaws opened and closed rhythmically, as though it was anticipating its next meal.
“Help…” Parvati whispered, taking a step back.
The dog growled, a deep, guttural sound that made the floor vibrate beneath them. Harry realized the only reason they hadn’t been attacked yet was the monster’s surprise at their sudden appearance. But that surprise was fading fast.
“Out, now!” Harry yelled, fumbling for the doorknob.
The group scrambled backward, nearly tripping over one another, and Harry managed to shut the door with a sharp slam. They didn’t stop to talk; they started running again, their hearts pounding in their chests. Filch seemed to have gone in another direction, but they weren’t about to stop to check. They didn’t stop running until they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady on the seventh floor.
“Where have you been?” the portrait asked, staring at them wide-eyed.
“Never mind—pig snout!” Harry gasped. The portrait swung aside, and they scrambled through, collapsing into the armchairs in the common room.
It was a while before anyone spoke. Neville looked like he might never speak again. Parvati, still pale, sat with one hand pressed to her chest.
“What’s a monster like that doing locked up in a school?” Ron finally asked, breaking the silence. “If there’s ever been a dog that needs to stretch its legs, it’s that one.”
Hermione, who had caught her breath, returned to her usual know-it-all tone.
“Honestly, don’t you ever use your eyes?” she snapped, glaring at the group. “Didn’t you see what it was standing on?”
“The floor?” Harry suggested, still shaken. “No, I didn’t exactly look at its feet. I was a bit busy with its heads.”
“No, not the floor. It was standing on a trapdoor. It’s obviously guarding something,” Hermione declared, as though pointing out the obvious.
Parvati, who had remained silent until then, raised an eyebrow. “A trapdoor? So you’re saying someone put it there on purpose? But who would use a… creature like that to guard something?”
Hermione crossed her arms, shooting her a stern look. “Exactly, Parvati. And that makes it even more ridiculous that we ended up there because of a foolish prank.”
Then she stood up abruptly, glaring at the group in disapproval. “I hope you’re satisfied with yourselves. You nearly got us killed—or worse, expelled. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to bed.”
Parvati sighed, rolling her eyes. “Hermione, we don’t need you telling us how reckless we were. I think the dog is enough of a lesson.”
Hermione ignored her and headed for the dormitory. Ron watched her go, his mouth open.
“No, we’re not sorry at all,” he said sarcastically. “The way she talks, you’d think we begged her to come with us!”
Harry, however, wasn’t listening anymore. Hermione had said something that made his head spin. A trapdoor. The dog was guarding something. Hagrid’s words echoed in his mind with unsettling clarity: Gringotts is the safest place in the world if you want to hide something… except perhaps Hogwarts.
The thought kept him awake as he climbed into bed. He had discovered where the grubby little package from Vault Seven Hundred and Thirteen was hidden. And now, more than ever, he wanted to know what it contained.