The night air carried a biting chill that made everyone hunch their shoulders and pull their robes tighter around themselves.
Standing in the darkness outside Hagrid's hut, with the distant silhouette of Hogwarts castle barely visible against the night sky, Hermione voiced the concern that had been lurking at the back of everyone's mind during their visit.
"So how exactly are we getting back? We can't just walk back through the front entrance as though nothing unusual happened."
Curfew had already passed—they were well past the time when students were permitted to be wandering the grounds.
If they tried a straightforward return to the castle and encountered Filch on one of his patrols, or if Mrs. Norris spotted them, or if Peeves decided to make noise about their presence, the consequences would be severe.
"Wait, shouldn't the most important question be about Nicolas Flamel's identity?" Harry responded reflexively, his thoughts were still tangled in the mystery they'd been pursuing. "We finally got a real lead!"
The name felt very familiar to Harry, like a word hovering just at the edge of his memory, refusing to come fully into focus. He was certain he'd heard it somewhere before.
But the details remained elusive, and Hermione's insertion of concerns into his investigative momentum created an uncomfortable collision between mystery-solving impulse and survival instinct. The result was a flutter of anxious irritation in his chest.
"Are you planning to stand here in the cold until the name suddenly appears in your memory?" Hermione said sharply. Her words functioned like cold water poured over a campfire, dousing the flames of adventure in both Harry and Ron.
"We can search the library for information about Nicolas Flamel tomorrow after classes end. The books aren't going anywhere, and neither is the mystery." She continued with logic, making her case. "But if we get caught tonight—if Filch discovers us and reports us, if we lose House points or get detention—then all of this becomes pointless."
"She's right, actually." Ron's voice emerged with unusual seriousness, his earlier enthusiasm was draining away as he contemplated potential consequences.
The thought of being caught and having Percy write home to their mother about his rule-breaking sent a shudder through his body.
"Besides, Hagrid made some valid points too. Think about it, Harry—that three-headed dog is guarding whatever's down there, plus Dumbledore himself set up additional protective measures. With that level of security, this isn't something we need to worry about."
He continued saying. "My dad mentioned once that Muggles have this saying: 'Curiosity killed the cat.' Oh—Tom, I'm not talking about you, sorry."
The critical difference between the current situation and the original story events became relevant here.
In that version, Harry and his friends had experienced a series of escalating incidents that built toward crisis—a troll invasion at Halloween, increasingly suspicious behavior from a professor attempting to steal the Stone, Hagrid accidentally revealing Fluffy's weakness in exchange for information about dragons.
Each event had contributed to a growing sense that intervention was necessary.
But in this world, none of those dramatic events had occurred. The trio's interest in the fourth-floor mystery remained pure curiosity rather than urgent concern that something terrible was about to happen.
Without that rising pressure of apparent crisis, Ron's natural caution appeared back. The mystery was interesting, certainly, but interesting didn't necessarily mean requiring personal intervention.
Seeing both his friends adopt this more cautious stance, Harry felt his own enthusiasm dampening further. The fire of adventure that had been burning in his chest since they'd discovered the trapdoor cooled to embers.
Hermione's point about being able to research in the library tomorrow, about having time and resources to investigate properly rather than rushing headlong into danger was convincing.
"Alright, you're both right," he conceded reluctantly. "The most pressing issue is definitely what Hermione said—figuring out how to get back to the castle safely. But how do we actually do that?"
For Tom and Hannah, the question was less urgent.
The Hufflepuff common room was located conveniently near the Great Hall on the ground floor, making their journey relatively simple and short.
But Harry, Ron, and Hermione faced a considerably more challenging route. Gryffindor Tower was on the eighth floor of the castle, requiring them to traverse multiple levels of corridors, staircases, and open areas where they might encounter any number of obstacles: Filch on patrol, Mrs. Norris marauding for rule-breakers, Peeves looking for students to torment, or even professors taking evening walks.
The distance and complexity of their route multiplied their chances of discovery exponentially.
"Well, why don't we just ask Tom to help?" Hannah suggested, having had the benefit of experiencing his ability firsthand. "He can teleport all of us back to the castle."
Unlike Apparition, Tom's methods had been perfectly smooth and comfortable.
Tom straightened his posture immediately, his chest was puffing out with pride, preparing to demonstrate his capabilities and accept the admiration that would naturally follow this revelation of his exceptional abilities—
"That's impossible." Ron's exclamation cut through Tom's building self-satisfaction.
His expression showed the confidence of someone delivering information they absolutely know to be correct, finally getting their moment to demonstrate expertise.
"Setting aside the fact that Apparition is advanced magic that even seventh-years struggle to master, Tom couldn't possibly have enough magical power to transport this many people over this distance even if he somehow knew the technique."
He was warming to his topic now and his voice was taking on a lecturing tone. "Plus, the Hogwarts grounds have been layered with powerful protective enchantments that specifically prevent Apparition. When Charlie was learning to Apparate, his instructor made a point of emphasizing that attempting it at Hogwarts would simply fail—the magic wouldn't work at all. I know this for a fact!"
The satisfaction in his voice was obvious.
This was one of the rare pieces of genuinely useful information he'd absorbed from his older brothers—not from the twins, who were fountains of pranking knowledge but rarely gave practical guidance, and certainly not from Percy, who dispensed rules and regulations nobody wanted to hear.
This came from Charlie, who actually knew useful things about the wider magical world.
Having multiple older brothers wasn't entirely disadvantageous, Ron realized. Sometimes they actually provided valuable information.
"But..." Ariana blinked with confusion, scrunching her face slightly as she tried to resolve Ron's confident statement with her own direct experience.
As an Obscurial who'd died young, she'd never attended school during her living years. Since her return and enrollment at Hogwarts, she'd been gradually learning about magical society, but her education remained incomplete.
Advanced topics like Apparition and the specific wards protecting the castle were exactly the kind of obscure knowledge she lacked.
But she distinctly remembered Tom teleporting both of them from the castle to Hagrid's hut earlier this very evening. The memory was fresh and clear—one moment standing in a Hogwarts corridor, the next appearing outside the hut's door. That had definitely been some form of teleportation magic working within the supposedly protected grounds.
And she'd occasionally noticed house-elves appearing in Dumbledore's office through magical travel, which showed that at minimum, the anti-Apparition wards didn't prevent all forms of teleportation.
So, didn't Ron's absolute certainty conflict with observable reality?
"You not believing something doesn't mean Tom can't do it." Hannah's voice carried defensive heat before Ariana could say her confusion.
As one of only two people present who'd experienced Tom's teleportation directly, and having witnessed numerous demonstrations of his reality-defying capabilities, she had considerably more confidence in his abilities than Ron's secondhand theoretical knowledge.
If Tom told her he could blow up Hogwarts, she would... well, alright, that claim might strain even her faith. But teleportation? She'd experienced that personally. Ron's confident statements about impossibility ran directly counter to her lived experience.
"This isn't about belief though." Ron's voice had lost some of its earlier certainty, but his stubbornness kept him arguing his position despite the pushback.
"These are facts about how magic works. Besides, we're too far from the castle. Apparition magic is dangerous even under ideal conditions—the risk of splinching or appearing inside solid objects is why it requires so much training.
Add in the castle's protective enchantments working against the spell, and trying it becomes genuinely dangerous. What if something goes wrong? What if the wards interfere and we end up scattered across the grounds or stuck partially inside a wall?"
"Enough!" Harry's voice cut through the developing argument sharply.
The discussion was rapidly degrading from productive problem-solving into competitive stubbornness, with positions hardening and voices rising. If he didn't intervene now, they'd waste the entire night standing in the cold arguing instead of actually returning to the castle.
He turned to Tom with an expression mixing hope and caution. "Tom, would you be able to transport us back to somewhere near the Gryffindor common room? Or if that's too difficult, just getting us inside the castle anywhere would help."
His reasoning was simple and practical. Ron claimed Hogwarts' protections prevented Apparition.
Fine—the easiest way to resolve that dispute was testing it directly. If Tom succeeded, excellent, problem solved. If the attempt failed, then Hannah and Ariana would have their answer and the argument would end naturally.
Either outcome moved them forward, which was better than standing in the cold debating theoretical possibility.
[Absolutely not. I'm not doing it.]
Tom's whiteboard appeared with flat refusal. His tail swished with irritation, and he deliberately turned his head away, presenting his profile to indicate he was done with this conversation and the people involved in it.
The audacity of it—questioning his abilities and then expecting him to prove himself by providing free transportation services? Did they think he was some kind of tool to be used whenever convenient? He had pride, dignity, self-respect!
He wasn't a magical taxi service that performed on demand regardless of how he was treated.
But even in his irritation, after a moment's consideration, he added a clarification.
[At minimum, I'm definitely not bringing Ron with us.]
His sense of principles demanded this distinction.
As a cat of integrity, he believed in proportional response and directed consequences. Ron had been the primary voice questioning his abilities, expressing doubt about his competence, raising concerns about danger.
Therefore, Ron would be the one to experience the natural consequence of that skepticism, being excluded from the very convenience he'd claimed was impossible or too risky.
The others hadn't showed that same degree of doubt. They could be forgiven and included in his demonstration of capability.
Ron's face flushed red. "Fine! I don't want to come anyway! I don't believe you can get us back safely in the first place! For all I know, you'd teleport us into the lake or the Forbidden Forest or halfway through a wall!"
His voice climbed in volume with each statement. If Tom was excluding him, then he'd reject the entire proposal preemptively.
Tom responded to this outburst with supreme indifference. He licked his paw casually, grooming himself as though Ron's opinion held exactly as much weight as a fly's buzzing.
Then, without so much as glancing in Ron's direction, Tom reached into his storage and extracted a section of black cloth. The cloth expanded as he pulled it free, unfurling into its full dimensions.
Ron experienced a moment of disorientation as darkness enveloped his vision. When light returned seconds later, he found himself staring at empty space where five people had been standing moments before.
Harry, Hermione, Hannah, Ariana, and Tom had vanished completely. Only Ron remained, alone in the dark wilderness outside Hagrid's hut.
"Harry? Hermione? Where are you?!" His voice emerged higher than intended, tinged with alarm as the reality of his situation penetrated his anger.
The feeling of being suddenly, completely alone in the darkness triggered instinctive unease that overwhelmed his earlier indignation.
He spun in place, searching the shadows, calling out repeatedly. Perhaps they were hiding nearby? Playing some kind of joke? They wouldn't actually abandon him out here, would they?
"This isn't funny! Come out! I know you're there somewhere!"
But the darkness remained stubbornly silent except for the distant sounds of the Forbidden Forest and the wind moving through grass.
Meanwhile, on the eighth floor of Hogwarts castle, outside the portrait of the Fat Lady that concealed the entrance to Gryffindor common room, five figures appeared as the darkness receded.
Harry blinked, his vision adjusting from the void of transport to the familiar stone corridor and the warm light of torches in their brackets. Hermione swayed slightly beside him, one hand reaching out to steady herself against the wall.
Hannah and Ariana appeared equally disoriented; their expressions were mixing wonder with the slight nausea that accompanied rapid spatial displacement.
They were home, inside the castle specifically at their exact destination.
And Ron was nowhere in sight.