Chapter 75: Forced Night Prowling
Of all the myriad rules detailed in Hogwarts: A History, the most crucial one remained unwritten: All regulations are null and void until you get caught.
Corridor.
Mrs. Norris leaped onto a low pedestal, her gaunt, grey form sharp and distinct in the moonlight slanting through the high windows. Sean could hear his own heart pounding against his ribs, loud enough, it seemed, to wake the snoozing portraits. Pale patches of light lay scattered across the flagstones like traps, making the shadows seem deeper, more menacing, ripe for ghostly apparitions.
Wandering the castle after hours was strictly forbidden. Though practically a Gryffindor tradition, it didn't mean the professors wouldn't severely punish any lions caught out of bounds. Sean recalled Harry and the others being docked a crippling one hundred and fifty points and assigned detention after being caught by Filch returning from the Forbidden Forest. Students have no business wandering the school at night, McGonagall had stated grimly. It's dangerous.
For Sean, losing house points wasn't catastrophic; he could earn them back. But detention – being assigned menial tasks by a professor – would consume precious time, the one resource he couldn't afford to lose. His breathing grew heavy, his mind racing. Getting caught now could derail nearly a month's worth of painstaking effort. How could he possibly escape punishment?
A cool breeze swirled in through an open window, bringing with it an unexpected turn of events.
Mrs. Norris, after a soft meow, began to rub against Sean's legs, purring faintly. He could almost see a flicker of affection in her lamp-like eyes.
Oh. Right.
Three nights ago, near the dungeons, Sean had seen a group of Gryffindors cornering Mrs. Norris. Filch was universally despised, and his cat often bore the brunt of the students' animosity. Sean had simply stood nearby, watching silently, until the would-be tormentors had lost their nerve and slunk away.
"Thank you, Mrs. Norris," Sean whispered, suddenly remembering the small packet of dried fish Justin had given him. He offered a piece. As the cat delicately took the treat, Sean tentatively stroked her dusty fur.
[You have gained the affection of the Kneazle-part Magical Beast (Mrs. Norris) to the Adept standard. Proficiency +10]
The unexpected Panel notification made Sean jump. He quickly checked his stats. A new entry had appeared:
[Magical Beast Affinity: Kneazle (Mrs. Norris): Not Yet Befriended (10/90)]
Note: Achieving Apprentice-level Affinity with a Magical Beast unlocks the Apprentice-level Title in the field of Magical Creatures.
An entirely unforeseen development.
Sean continued down the corridor, moving as silently as possible. Far behind him, swallowed by the oppressive darkness, two faint, yellowish orbs hovered in the air. Mrs. Norris padded silently after him, her soft paws making no sound on the cold stone. Her luminous eyes, which seemed to see everything, remained fixed on the small, familiar figure ahead. Clutched delicately between her sharp teeth was the small, silvery dried fish, its faint scent mingling with the damp night air.
"Oh, Minerva," Dumbledore murmured, standing beside a gleaming suit of armour, "as I said. Magical creatures often recognize a kind heart far better than we wizards do." His long, white beard shone in the moonlight.
Beside him, Professor McGonagall watched Sean's progress, her eyes filled with an anxiety she rarely showed. She saw him navigating the shadowy corridor, pale and small in the shifting light, his steps hesitant.
Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled. With an almost imperceptible flick of his finger, the sword held by the suit of armour beside Sean suddenly clattered to the floor.
CLANG!
The sound echoed deafeningly in the silence. Sean froze, whipping his head around. Was he so exhausted he hadn't even noticed bumping into it?
No time to think. He broke into a run, the wind whistling past his ears, adrenaline momentarily overriding his fatigue. He barely registered the growing light at the end of the corridor.
A figure burst out from behind a tapestry to his right, holding a lantern aloft. Argus Filch wheezed, his eyes darting wildly, searching for the rule-breaker. A thick, tartan scarf was wrapped around his head, and his nose glowed an unhealthy red.
Sean ducked behind another suit of armour, his heart pounding.
"Sean Green! Out after hours! Making a mess!" Filch rasped, his voice trembling with rage. "I've had enough! Detention! Come with me, Green!"
Well, damn. Sighing, Sean stepped out from behind the armour. Strangely, the fear had vanished, replaced by a weary resignation.
Behind another suit of armour further down the hall, Minerva McGonagall turned away, her eyes blazing. Dumbledore pretended not to notice, examining a nearby tapestry with great interest. "Ah, Minerva," he said mildly, "we both know the boy doesn't deserve punishment. But let us see how he handles… Mr. Filch, shall we?"
Sean had never imagined he would end up in Filch's office – a place most students avoided like the plague. It was a dingy, windowless room, lit only by a single oil lamp hanging from the low ceiling, casting greasy shadows. The air smelled faintly of fried fish. Wooden filing cabinets lined the walls, meticulously labelled with the names of every student Filch had ever punished. Fred and George Weasley had an entire drawer to themselves. A collection of chains and manacles hung gleaming on the wall behind Filch's desk. Everyone knew Filch constantly begged Dumbledore for permission to hang students by their ankles from the ceiling.
What struck Sean most, however, was the filth. The floor and walls were smeared with mud, and something that looked disturbingly like rat intestines lay coiled in a corner, emitting a foul stench. Clearly the work of some audacious student prankster.
"Filthy little beasts," Filch muttered, surveying the mess. "More mud! Three hours of scrubbing, at least! Ah—Green, Green, bold one, aren't we? Need to make an example… Forms… where are they… here…"
He pulled a long roll of parchment from a drawer, spread it out, and dipped a long, black quill into an inkpot.
"Name… Sean Green. Crime…"
"Being out after hours," Sean stated plainly.
Filch looked up, surprised by the lack of argument.
"So you admit your guilt!" he shrieked, his face contorting. "And yet you dare?! I'll see you expelled for this!"
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