"Harry, Ron, Hermione! Thank Merlin—you're actually here to rescue me? I've been stuck out here for hours!
Damn it, I forgot the password and couldn't get back to the dorm to sleep!"
The trio wore matching looks of resignation.
"The new password is 'Pig Snout.' But it wouldn't help you anyway—the Fat Lady went visiting. No way you were getting inside tonight."
"How's your leg?" Harry asked.
"It's fine," Neville said, lifting it for them to see. "Madam Pomfrey fixed it in a blink."
"Looks good as new—she's brilliant. But Neville, we don't have time to chat. We're heading out. Stay here."
"No! What if someone finds me?" Neville scrambled upright. "I don't want to be alone out here—and the Bloody Baron's passed by twice already. I do not want to see him again."
Ron checked his watch, then glared at Hermione and Neville—his two extra burdens tonight.
"You two better listen to us exactly. If we get caught because of you, I swear I'll turn you into trolls."
Harry hissed at Ron to quiet down and motioned for them to move.
They crept along the corridor, sticking to the shadows. Moonlight spilled across the floor in pale silver.
Every corner they rounded, they moved with painstaking caution—terrified of what might be waiting.
If they ran into Filch or Mrs. Norris, it was over.
Luckily, the way remained clear.
The Trophy Room was empty—no Malfoy, no Crabbe.
Only rows of crystal display cases gleaming softly under the moonlight.
The four of them edged along the wall, eyes locked on the door.
Harry drew his wand, ready in case Malfoy decided to jump him.
Seconds dragged into minutes. Still no sign of Malfoy.
Ron frowned. "Where is he? Don't tell me he chickened out."
Then—
A sudden noise from the next room made them all jump.
Harry heard voices, faint but unmistakable. And definitely not Malfoy.
"Search carefully, dear. They might be hiding in some corner!"
Filch. And Mrs. Norris.
Harry felt his heart seize. He motioned frantically, and the four of them hurried toward the opposite door.
Fortunately, the Trophy Room had two exits. They slipped through the second just as Filch pushed open the first.
Close—far too close.
Filch's steps drew nearer, so the four of them quickened their pace.
Suits of armor lined the corridor, casting eerie shadows.
Suddenly—
Neville stumbled over one, let out a startled yelp, and grabbed Ron.
The armor beside him toppled with a deafening crash.
The metallic clatter tore through the silent night, painfully loud.
The group froze for a single heartbeat—
then sprinted for their lives.
They tore down corridor after corridor, dodging columns, corners, statues—anything in their way—until they lost all sense of where they were.
Only when they collapsed into a familiar classroom did they stop.
"This is… our Charms classroom," Harry gasped, bracing himself on his knees. "We're miles from the Trophy Room…"
The others were just as miserable, clinging to walls, panting like they'd run a marathon.
Hermione glared at Harry and Ron, furious between breaths.
"I—I told you! We'd run into trouble! I told you—we'd get caught!"
Ron groaned, "But we didn't get caught! Let's just get back to Gryffindor Tower before we do."
Hermione wasn't done.
"How did Filch know someone was in the Trophy Room? He went straight there—someone tipped him off. It was Malfoy! He never planned to duel you. He only wanted to lure you there and let Filch catch you. You two—absolute idiots—fell right for it!"
Harry went quiet.
He hated to admit it… but Hermione was probably right.
Damn Malfoy.
"Let's go."
They were stepping out when a figure shot from the nearby classroom.
Peeves.
He blinked at them—then burst into gleeful laughter.
"Well, well, well! Look what I've found! Naughty little first-years, wandering the castle past bedtime! Tsk tsk tsk! If you get caught, you'll be expelled for sure! Hahaha!"
They rushed to shush him.
"Peeves, please—keep it down! Don't get us caught—we're begging you!"
Dangerous delight flashed in his eyes.
"No, no, no… I should tell Filch. It's for your own good! Rules mustn't be broken, right? Hahaha!"
Ron snapped, "You dare! If you tell Filch, I'll get the Bloody Baron to deal with you!"
But Peeves was not someone Ron could threaten.
He threw his head back and shrieked at the top of his lungs:
"STUDENTS OUT OF BED! FIRST-YEARS IN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR! COME QUICK!"
Their scalps tingled.
They darted around him and launched into another panicked sprint.
They ran until they reached the very end of the corridor—and a locked door.
"We're finished!" Ron whimpered.
They shoved against it in despair.
"We're done for! We're dead!"
Filch was coming fast.
Hermione suddenly pushed past them, snatched Harry's wand, aimed at the lock, and whispered urgently:
"Alohomora!"
The lock clicked.
The door flew open.
They stumbled inside and slammed it shut behind them.
Ron stared. "Alo—what?"
"Alohomora. Chapter Seven of Standard Book of Spells."
Harry pressed his ear to the door.
"Peeves! Where'd they go?!" Filch bellowed. "Tell me—now!"
"Say please!"
"Don't mess with me, Peeves! Tell me!"
"If you don't say please, I'll say I know nothing at all!" Peeves sang in his torturous, sing-song voice.
But to Harry and the others, he sounded like an angel.
"…Fine! Please tell me."
"NOTHING AT ALL! Hahaha! Told you—if you don't say please, I know nothing! Hahaha!"
Cackling, Peeves drifted off, humming triumphantly, leaving Filch muttering curses behind him.
"Brilliant—he didn't snitch! Remind me to be nicer to Peeves. We need to get out of here," Harry whispered, motioning for them to follow.
Neville tugged at his sleeve.
"What is it?"
Harry turned—
—and froze.
For a moment, he wondered if he was dreaming. Everything had been so frantic, so surreal.
Because behind the door…
…wasn't a room.
It was a corridor.
The forbidden corridor on the fourth floor.
And now they finally understood why it was off-limits.
If they'd had a choice,
they would've preferred not to know.
/-\
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