Hogwarts: From Little Wizard to White Lord

"Sixty points! How many questions do I have to answer in class to earn that back?"

"Harry! Potter! You didn't hit Malfoy, you hit the House Cup! Oh my goodness—"

"Who's 'God'?" Ron muttered beside her.

Hermione shot him a glare so fierce he instantly shut up.

Harry was miserable. He was still shaken from the terrifying experience that afternoon, not to mention Professor McGonagall's scolding that had lasted for hours. He didn't even have the energy to argue.

Every Gryffindor who passed by gave him a grin and a comment:

"Potter, we lost sixty points. What did you do this time?"

"Harry, I heard you knocked Malfoy out of the sky? Nice one! But how are you planning to fix our score?"

Most were teasing. Only Hermione looked like she was truly going to cry. Sixty points might not matter much to others, but to her, it was the end of the world.

Harry didn't want to talk to anyone. He kept his head down at the long table, shoveling cold pie into his mouth.

He hadn't eaten anything since lunch, and now he was starving.

Ron gulped and reached for a slice of pie, but Hermione smacked his hand with her wand.

"That's Harry's. Didn't you already eat earlier?"

"I just thought Harry looked like he was enjoying it…"

Hermione didn't even bother responding.

She kept lecturing Harry all through his meal. But once they returned to the Gryffindor common room, her worries flared up again.

"You and Malfoy are serving detention together? Where is it going to be?"

"Trophy room. We're polishing trophies," Harry muttered without looking up.

"Just the two of you?"

"And Mrs. Norris. She's in charge of keeping watch."

Mrs. Norris, Filch's cat, was infamous throughout Hogwarts. She was clever and had a talent for appearing silently wherever mischief was happening.

Even Hermione, who adored cats, found her unsettling. There was something eerie about the way she moved and the way her eyes always seemed to glow in the dark.

It was thin, with dark gray fur and bulging eyes. At a glance, you might even think you'd seen a ghost.

Ron shivered and instinctively hugged Banban tighter in his arms.

His experience over the summer had left him with a lingering fear of cats.

"Why don't you just skip it, Harry?" he suggested. "Or talk to a professor—ask them to change the place or at least make sure you don't have to be stuck with Malfoy."

Hermione nodded in agreement. Malfoy was devious, and they couldn't imagine how Harry could deal with him alone.

"I still want to go…" Harry said softly. "Professor McGonagall said my dad played Quidditch, and some of his trophies are in the trophy room. I want to see them."

The two fell silent after that and didn't try to stop him again.

But when Harry finished his homework that night and headed quietly out toward the trophy room, Ron and Hermione followed right behind him without a word.

"…Why are you two following me?"

"I'm worried Malfoy might pick on you," Ron replied seriously.

Hermione's face was tight with concern. "I'm worried the two of you will start fighting again. If Gryffindor keeps losing points, we'll be in the negatives soon."

Harry felt a wave of gratitude.

He understood now—his two companions were genuinely worried about him.

"I won't stop you from coming," he said, "but you'll need to stay hidden. Don't let Filch or Mrs. Norris see you. And definitely not Malfoy. He'll make a scene and say you were sneaking around at night."

Both nodded in agreement.

Harry led the way, lantern in hand, while Hermione and Ron tiptoed behind him. When they reached the third floor, they saw the faint flicker of torchlight spilling from the trophy room ahead.

Filch stood outside the door, holding a torch aloft. Hermione and Ron immediately pressed themselves against the shadows, hiding behind a column, and heard his rasping voice echo across the corridor:

"Harry Potter! Get over here. Don't think for a second you can dodge detention. Back in the day, we used to have real punishment—chains and shackles! Now hand over your wand!"

From inside, Malfoy's voice rang out, full of disdain. "Take it, you old rat. Scratch it, and my father will make sure you're out of this place. He's on the school board!"

There was a lot of scuffling and snapping inside. Before long, Filch limped away down another hallway, leaving Mrs. Norris stationed firmly at the door like a furry sentinel.

Crouched at the corridor's edge, Hermione and Ron exchanged tense glances and leaned forward, eyes trained on the scene.

They were ready to jump out and help Harry at the first sign of trouble—

But something else got to them first.

A voice suddenly called out from behind them, "What are you doing?"

Ron jumped so hard he nearly screamed. His hands flew to his chest like a soprano about to belt a high note, but before he could make a sound—

"Silently."

A spell hit him square in the chest. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He'd been muted.

Hermione, startled, had instinctively clapped a hand over her own mouth. She turned around quickly and stared in surprise.

It was Peter.

In the dim corridor light, Peter stood there in cozy wool pajamas, with Guoguocha perched calmly at his feet. In one hand, he held a rope. The other end? Tied to a floating figure in the air—Peeves.

The mischievous ghost was snarling and baring his teeth but couldn't move at all. He hung like a balloon above Peter's head, clearly restrained by some kind of spell.

"Peter! What are you doing here? And Peeves—?"

"I'm taking him for a walk," Peter replied with a perfectly straight face, smiling faintly.

"Last time I changed the words on the Slytherin common room door, this guy spread it around and caused me a lot of trouble," Peter said casually. "I figured there must've been some misunderstanding between us, so I've been working on communication these past few days. Now we're friends. Right, Peeves?"

He tugged the rope slightly. Peeves gave a wild-eyed nod, bobbing up and down like a balloon, his eyes rolling dramatically.

Ron flattened himself against the wall, trying to make himself invisible, terrified that Peter would turn his attention to him next.

Hermione was at a loss for words.

Peeves was the one student no one could deal with. Neither ghost nor human, Peeves was something in between—a being of chaos that didn't respond to most spells. For years, even the professors had failed to control him.

Yet here Peter stood, casually tethering him like a misbehaving kite.

Hermione's eyes lit up with curiosity, admiration blooming behind her surprise. She wanted to ask Peter how he managed to do it.

But before she could speak, Peter looked at her knowingly and smiled. "Found it in the Restricted Section," he said softly. "I'll show you sometime. But first, we've got another problem."

As he spoke, a soft skittering sound passed by Ron's feet. A slim shadow darted out into the hallway, its wide, unblinking eyes scanning the corridor.

Mrs. Norris had arrived.

This eerie cat was as creepy as a skeleton, and just looking at it gave people the chills.

But to Hermione and Ron's surprise, Peter didn't seem the least bit bothered. Calmly, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a piece of dried fish, and offered it to Mrs. Norris.

"Meowww—"

The sound sent shivers down their spines.

Hermione and Ron froze, worried she might dart off to find Filch. But instead, Mrs. Norris bowed her head and began chewing the fish contentedly, purring low in her throat.

Only Guoguocha looked irritated, wagging its tail in protest.

Ron flailed his arms in the air, desperate to speak. Peter gave him a passing glance and flicked his wand, lifting the silencing spell.

"Merlin's beard!" Ron gasped, his freckles glowing red with excitement. "Peter, how did you do that? Teach me!"

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