Days at Hogwarts

For wizards, broken bones were not catastrophic.

The next day in Potions class, Harry was relieved to see Malfoy attending and looking well.

That relief didn't last.

After class, Malfoy mocked Harry for failing to answer Snape's question and insulted his head, calling it a giant monster.

Harry was furious and wondered why he hadn't thrown Malfoy off a tower yet.

Loren, meanwhile, was working on improving Snape's opinion of him to lay the groundwork for later.

"Professor, is it better to squeeze the juice from these beans with a knife or slice them?" Loren asked, pointing to the section titled Common Methods of Processing Potion Ingredients.

Snape paused, stared into Loren's eyes, and said coldly, "I admit you have some talent."

"But I see your ambition."

"Don't try to use me to get anything, Loren Morgan."

Still, Snape fulfilled his duties.

He handed Loren a long list of books and told him to find the answers himself.

The books were standard texts, nothing hidden.

Loren met those cold, abyssal eyes that seemed to see into the deepest part of his soul.

He suspected Snape was using Legilimency.

He didn't know how he walked out of the classroom but admitted feeling a little scared.

In the corridor, Harry told Ron he was chosen as the new seeker.

Ron was thrilled, eagerly sharing Quidditch facts and a detailed training plan.

His smile was as if he himself could fly.

But the Weasley twins quickly exposed Ron.

His knowledge and training plans were hearsay.

He didn't even know how many direct attack methods a batsman had without fouling.

Some details were simply wrong.

Ron remained stubborn as he left the courtyard.

Harry worried he might embarrass himself.

Being a seeker was not just about flying—it often decided the outcome of the game.

Hermione suddenly joined them.

"I know Harry will be an excellent Quidditch player. It's in his bloodline."

"Bloodline?" Harry asked, confused.

Hermione led them to the trophy room, stopping before a shield engraved with "Seeker, James Potter, 1971."

Ron exclaimed, "Oh, Harry! You never told me your dad was a seeker!"

Harry laughed nervously.

"I—I didn't know either."

Twenty years later, Harry was a Gryffindor player like his father.

The coincidence gave him a sense of belonging and warmth.

As they climbed the stairs, Harry joked, "Even Hermione knows my parents better than I do."

Hermione denied it.

"I just saw your dad's name by chance."

She didn't mention that Professor McGonagall was also a Quidditch player.

It wasn't a secret but something she preferred to keep to herself.

Suddenly, the staircase swayed from side to side, then rose and fell.

Feeling the familiar sensation of weightlessness, all three complained in unison: "This damn staircase!"

The stairs turned into a door on the fourth floor.

They pushed it open and entered, unfamiliar with the staircase's pattern.

If they didn't leave soon, who knew how long they'd be trapped?

Harry led the way, Hermione followed, Ron in the middle.

The room darkened suddenly.

In its center stood a statue in a strange pose, covered in spiderwebs, eerie and silent.

"Does anyone think we're in the wrong place?" Ron shuddered.

"This is the forbidden fourth floor," Hermione whispered.

"Dumbledore warned us not to enter."

"Meow!"

A shrill cat's cry cut through the silence.

A yellow-gray cat darted from behind them.

Harry was the first to react.

"It's Mrs. Norris! Run!"

Filch was usually nearby.

Getting caught by him would not end well.

Mrs. Norris chased them to a locked door.

Panicked, Hermione drew her wand.

"Alohomora!"

"Well done!" Harry praised.

They slipped inside and hid.

Mrs. Norris's cries faded away.

They gasped quietly, recovering from the chase.

Ron tried to joke but then noticed something in the room.

His face turned pale.

"Merlin's beard!" His voice trembled.

Harry and Hermione turned slowly.

Their expressions matched Ron's fear.

Behind them sat a monstrous dog.

Its enormous body filled the room, floor to ceiling.

Three heads snarled, sharp teeth bared—one head nearly the size of their own.

The giant dog drooled, eyes fixed ferociously on them.

"Ah!" Hermione screamed.

They pushed open the door and fled, leaving Fluffy behind.

"No wonder Dumbledore forbids this floor!" Ron gasped.

"But why keep such a thing in school?"

Hermione exhaled in disgust.

"Look at what it's guarding."

"It's a trapdoor," Harry realized.

"Obviously protecting something."

Harry's eyes widened as he recalled the small bag Hagrid took from vault 713.

He was about to speak when—

Hermione interrupted.

"Okay, I'm going back.

Don't worry about the dog.

Unless you want to be bitten to death—or worse, expelled!"

She shook her hair and left.

Ron muttered, "Can't she tell what's worse?"

Back in the common room, Harry couldn't stop thinking about the small bag.

He couldn't focus on chess.

Ron told him to give up his seat, wanting to duel Seamus and Dean alone.

Harry approached Loren, sharing his suspicions.

"What is Hagrid hiding? Is that three-headed dog guarding the bag? What's inside?"

Loren looked up from a towering stack of potions books—five from Snape's list, taller than Loren himself.

The full list had 25 books.

He probably wouldn't finish them all before Christmas.

Harry kept talking, convinced something important was in the bag.

Loren smiled knowingly.

"If I were you, I'd ask Hagrid directly."

Harry shook his head.

"Hagrid changed the subject last time.

It must be either very precious or very dangerous."

"Or both," Loren added.

"Why don't we just see for ourselves?" Loren's expression was devilish—like tempting a lost deer.

His foot hit the accelerator; brakes welded shut.

He sped forward.

Harry was shocked.

"But there's a three-headed dog!"

"I have a way to deal with the dog."

"But… Dumbledore…"

"We're not stealing anything."

Bang, bang, bang—the sound of Harry's pounding heart.

Harry was a good student, but the lure of adventure was strong.

Yet being expelled would be worse.

He still planned to uncover the secret first.