Disclaimer: The Harry Potter series and its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.
Chapter Nine
The Door to the Underworld
"Look, there he is," he heard a boy from Ravenclaw say.
Harry didn't get much sleep after waking up from the previous night's dream. He may have gotten only an hour or two after rolling in bed for another two, but that was all. And now, he had to come downstairs to hear to the other kids in the school gawk at him and whisper about him while he pretended not to listen.
All the while, he and Hermione were writing letters to their parents while Hedwig nibbled on a crust of toast that Harry handed her. When they were done, and when Hedwig was done with a piece of bacon Ron gave her, she took the letters and flew out of the Great Hall along with all the other owls that came for the morning post.
"Go over there and talk to him," a Hufflepuff boy said to another.
"You go over, if you want to so badly," the second boy snapped back.
Harry turned back to the bowl of porridge he had left of his breakfast.
"Isn't there something more important they could talk about?" Harry asked no one in particular.
"They're in the same school as a living legend," Ron replied. "What else could they talk about that is just as important?"
"Maybe their own lives?"
"It will die down, Harry," said Hermione. "Once the other kids see you're just another kid trying to get his education, they'll understand."
That statement didn't happen right away, and the gawking certainly didn't stop at the Great Hall. All week, the other students would stop, point at him, and murmur amongst themselves, most likely about him. It became irritating very quickly. For the most part, they would leave him alone, but a few would follow him in-between his classes, probably building up the courage to come up and speak to him. He would have, if they had just done it, rather than just lurk about and spy on him.
During one break between classes, a group of third-years followed him down a staircase Harry found hidden behind a tapestry. Harry had taken this path to avoid them and everyone else, but much to his dismay, they had followed him. To his surprise, as he went down the stairs, he set foot on the seventh step from the bottom and his foot plummeted through it. His book bag flew to the bottom. Harry struggled to pull himself out while the other students stood agog at his predicament. He asked them for help. The third-years spent much of the next few minutes arguing about who should get to help him out.
Luckily for Harry, the Weasley twins were about to head up the stairs as well. Seeing Harry's unfortunate position, they pulled him out and sent him on his way, with promise of a guided tour about Hogwarts, for five Galleons (eight, if he wanted to see all the parts off-limits to the students).
The castle itself was so large that Harry and all the other first-year students got lost very frequently. There were so many staircases—some narrow; some wide; several that went in opposite directions; others that led a different way every other day; some with a trick step that you would fall through if you stepped on it, like Harry had experienced before—and doorways of all types—normal doors; doors that were behind a tapestry; doors that were concealed as brick and mortar; doors that wouldn't open unless you tickle them in the right spot; doors that were just pretending to be doors—that they couldn't help but lose sense of where they were in the school.
The ghosts didn't help with his loss of directions. Whenever he tried to open a door, one would float through and startle Harry so much that he lost sense of where he needed to go. Only Sir Nicholas was any help to Harry, pointing him in the right direction whenever he could. And then there was Peeves. The poltergeist would pop up at any moment and scare whoever came near him or even so much as glanced in his general vicinity. He suspected that even some of the suits of armour moved about the castle of their on free will.
The one person who gave Harry the most grief was Mr Filch. The castle's caretaker, one never knew where Mr Filch would pop up from anywhere and try to send any student straight to detention for whatever reason he saw fit. It seemed that he knew the halls of Hogwarts better than anyone, though Harry suspected the Weasley twins knew even more. Always following Filch was his beloved pet cat, Mrs Norris. While she was nowhere near as bad Filch was, many students often wished they could give that cat a swift kick in the rear.
As much as he expected the teachers to refrain from reacting to him being there, a few of them couldn't help themselves. Professor Flitwick, when taking the roll call, came upon Harry's name, let out a little squeak and toppled backward off his podium. Professor Sprout, the Herbology instructor, nearly set a shrub on fire when she saw him in person for the first time. Thankfully, the fire was put out quickly and the lesson went on.
The classes were just as Harry and Hermione expected they would be. Most of them were, anyway. Herbology was essentially gardening for Wizards. History of Magic was as boring as anyone would have expected. Probably the only exciting moment was when Professor Binns, who was a ghost, floated through the blackboard at the front of the class. When he started teaching, all he did was read the text from their textbook, droning out all the pertinent facts and dates in a truly boring tone of voice without looking up at the students or calling on anyone to read any passage or answer a question. He didn't even ask any questions.
Naturally, all the students in class were bored out of their minds and more than a fair few drifted off as Professor Binns mumbled through the textbook open before him. The only person who didn't show any sign of boredom was Hermione, who diligently copied everything Professor Binns said word for word, even though all Professor Binns did was read directly from the textbook.
The one class that was an outright disappointment to Harry was Defence Against the Dark Arts. Everyone had been looking forward to it, but it soon became apparent that this class was not at all going to be as exciting as anyone had hoped. The classrooms reeked of garlic. Strands of it festooned the entire place. Harry heard from Fred & George that it was to ward off a vampire he had crossed at some point in Romania. They said he kept it in his turban wherever he went as well. Professor Quirrell recited numerous anecdotes in his tremulous, stuttering voice. He even told everyone his turban was a gift from a village in West Africa for stopping a particularly troublesome zombie. When someone asked him for the details, like which village it was and what type of zombie, he trailed off and made some vague statement about the weather.
Naturally, everyone was more than ready to leave and move on to the next day's classes.
***HPG***
The next day was when when they had their most anticipated classes, Transfiguration and Potions.
Everyone was looking forward to Transfiguration. Thankfully for them, unlike Defence, no one went away disappointed. Exhausted, maybe, but not disappointed.
Harry and Hermione wondered if Professor McGonagall would appear for the class. That thought was on everyone else's mind as well.
"Do you think Professor McGonagall is going to show up?" asked Ron.
"I hope so," Harry replied.
"I just hope she's in good health after what happened," said Hermione.
Sure enough, a door off to the side opened and Professor McGonagall walked into the classroom. She was slightly more wan than Harry remembered her being, and she walked with a wooden cane in hand, but apart from that, she didn't appear as though she suffered any injury at all.
She gave the students a prim "Good morning," before she conducted the role call for the class. To Harry's relief, she didn't make a great deal over his being there. Maybe she got that out of her system when we first met, Harry thought, though she doesn't seem like the sort of person that gets overly excited, even when the occasion calls for it. Once the roll call was done, she addressed the class. "No doubt you all are hoping to learn to do amazing things with magic so you can change one thing into another. But, know this. This is perhaps the most focus-intensive branch of Magic there is. One wrong word, one wrong flick of the wrist, can undo so many hours of work and put your life in danger. I assure you, I will not have any misbehaving or tomfoolery in my class. Either you do exactly as I tell you, or I will show you out of my class. Do that enough times and I will see to it you are no longer a student here. Have I made myself clear?"
Each and every student gave a nervous nod of their head. With that, the professor removed a box from her coat pocket. She opened it and pulled out a handful of matches. She walked to each desk and set a matchstick in front of each student.
"This will be your first assignment," she told all of them. "You will change a matchstick into a needle. This is much more difficult than it appears and you will not accomplish it within the time of this class. Now, get to work."
Just as Professor McGonagall had said, changing a matchstick into a needle was much more challenging than he had expected. A lot of the other students had trouble as well. Many of them swore under their breath as they made multiple attempts, all of them fruitless. Halfway through the class, only Hermione showed actual success, as her matchstick appeared slimmer, much more metallic and pointed. Harry's still had the match head but was pointed metal at the other end.
At the end of the class, McGonagall told them, "I see good progress to be made here. You will read chapter one of your text and write a summary on the theory for the next class. Good day."
The class got up and filed out of the room. Harry stayed behind and approached the professor, who sat at her desk, reassessing the class's work.
"Professor?" Harry asked her. The professor looked up, surprised that Harry was still around.
"Ah, Mr Potter," she said. "Your work today was satisfactory. You were one of the best in the class, second only to your sister. I expect you to put your all into this class from here on out. Understood?"
"I will, Professor," Harry said before going back to the topic he wanted to speak to her about. "Professor, I just wanted to say Hermione and I are glad you're all right," Harry told her. "We only heard about the attack yesterday. We feel terrible not knowing about it sooner."
The professor gave Harry a courteous nod of her head. "I appreciate your sentiments, Mr Potter. Thank you for expressing them in person."
Harry turned away before he decided to say something else to her. "Professor?"
"Yes, Mr Potter?"
"If it's not too much trouble, I would prefer it if you'd call me Granger."
McGonagall gave him a queer look, before Harry continued, "I know it sounds strange to hear me ask that. It's just, I feel more like myself being called that. Everyone else in this school can call me Potter if they wanted to. But, in Gryffindor, I'd prefer people calling me Granger."
She regarded him shrewdly, but quickly assented to his wishes. "I will remember that from now on," she respectfully told him, adding, "Now, get to lunch...Mister Granger."
Harry felt a little better hearing her calling him that. He was very glad she took his preference of surnames to heart so quickly. Harry smiled and left again.
***HPG***
Harry joined Ron and Susan for lunch. Both of his friends looked gloomy as he arrived.
"What's got you two looking so bad?"
"We've all got Potions next," Ron said, in a baleful way.
"Everything I hear about Snape makes me want to set myself on fire," said Susan.
"Word is, if you did that, he would dock you points for not showing up, and for wasting his time," said Ron, adding as an afterthought, "and probably for not putting a fire to good use."
"Come on, he can't be all bad," Harry asked.
"He took ten points away from Percy for studying ahead of everyone else," Rod told him. "In what possible way is that fair?"
"He can't be as bad as you say," said Harry, but then he remembered how Snape had reacted to his arriving at Hogwarts on the 1st of September.
"I wouldn't play up you being who you are," Susan advised him.
"That's the last thing I want," Harry replied.
For as much as Harry supposed that Snape disliked him, he was sorely mistaken. Snape didn't dislike Harry. He outright detested Harry.
The classroom was down in the dungeons of the castle. It was already creepy enough as they went down to the dungeons, what with that entire part of the castle being so dark and dank Harry felt like they had stepped back into medieval times. Once they arrived at Snape's classroom, it felt a million times creepier. The walls were lined with jars of all colours, each one with something dead floating in it.
Snape swept into the room, glowering at all of them. He began his class as Professor Flitwick had, with a roll call. As he called the names of everyone in class, he came upon Harry's name and smirked.
"Ah, Mister Potter! So glad you thought this class was worth your time to attend."
The Slytherins sniggered at their professor's snide comment. Harry just sat with his hands balled up into fists, concealing his anger. Snape finished the roll call and stowed the parchment away.
Snape began, reverently, "You are here to learn the mysterious and subtle art that is potion making. There will be no foolish wand-waving or any ridiculous incantations in my class. Because my class lacks those things, I do not expect many of you to understand fully just how important this subject can be, and is. But, those of you who do grasp its importance, you are gifted. You have the potential to brew fame. You can bottle glory. You may even be able to put a stopper in death itself."
The reverent tone disappeared, as he added, "That is, if you aren't the gaggle of morons I have been led to believe you are. But, in a poor attempt to assuage my doubts, we shall have a quiz to see just what knowledge on the subject you currently possess, if any."
Rolls of parchment flew from Snape's desk onto the desks of each child. The rolls unfurled themselves to reveal five pages of questions, fifteen on each page with a space between each for answers.
"You will have thirty minutes to finish," said the professor. "You will start...now!"
The professor turned over an hourglass. As the sand descended to the bottom bulb, the students hurried to show their teacher they weren't a moron. Harry glanced at each question and felt his stomach growing heavy with worry.
All too soon, the thirty minutes were up.
"Quills down, ink bottles away," said Snape. As he waved a hand, the parchments flew back to him. He sat at the desk and perused each paper, setting each one aside as if it he had just read a toddler's attempt at Shakespeare. Snape got to one test and shot a mean glare in Harry's direction. He set that test off to the side and returned to checking the rest of the tests. Once he was done, he passed the tests back to the class. When Harry realised he hadn't gotten his test back, he knew what was about to happen. It felt like he had swallowed a pound of lead.
"Your results are exactly what I expected from the lot of you," the professor called to everyone. "Let us review the answers."
He picked up Harry's test and flared it out as if he were about to read it aloud to the whole class. In fact, he did.
"Potter!" Snape called. Harry's head shot up in panic.
"Sir?"
"For the first question, 'What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?', what was your answer?"
"I wrote that they're the same plant, sir."
"Are you certain of that?"
"Yes, sir. I've also heard people refer to it as aconite."
Snape glowered at him and scribbled something on his test.
"For the next question, "Were a man stranded in the middle of nowhere, and in need of a bezoar, where first should he look?', what was your answer, Potter?"
"You should look for a herd of goats," Harry said simply. The class laughed at his answer. Snape, however, regarded Harry shrewdly.
"Silence," Snape said almost inaudibly. The class instantly quieted. "Explain your reasoning, if you please, Potter."
"Well," Harry explained. "A bezoar is a stone found in a goat's stomach. If you're in need of one right away, and stranded as well, you'd be better off trying to find the source more than anything."
"And what does a bezoar do, Potter?"
"I think it's an ingredient in antidotes," he said uncertainly.
"You think or you know?"
"No, it is an ingredient in antidotes."
"Very good," Snape said. The teacher's eyes showed he was rather impressed by Harry's answer, though the teacher's face remained impassive. "But, you didn't write that down on the test, so you only earn half marks."
Harry groaned inwardly, but did his best not to show it to his teacher. It went on like that, with Snape picking apart each of Harry's answers and belittling him if he didn't know it or didn't write down the entire answer on the parchment.
Finally, Snape got to the final question on the quiz. He asked, "'If one were to add powdered root of asphodel into an infusion of wormwood, what would the end product be?', you wrote down, 'I don't know.' Did you really not know, or was this just a way for you to appear to be a normal person?"
Asphodel and wormwood... He'd read about that potion somewhere. He just couldn't remember exactly what the end result was. So, he decided he had to answer truthfully.
"I don't know, sir," admitted Harry.
"Well, surely, you must have some idea."
"I thought it might have something to do with sleep, but I wasn't all that certain."
"Then why not write that down, Potter?"
"Like I said, sir, I couldn't be certain, so I thought it best to be honest."
"Well, your guess was at least on the right path. Powdered asphodel mixed into a wormwood infusion produces a sleeping potion so powerful that it is known throughout the Wizarding World as the Draught of Living Death."
Harry squeezed his eyes shut in humiliation. How could he have forgotten about the Draught of Living Death? He and Hermione had talked about it in fascination for nearly ten minutes when they first studied their Potions books.
"Mr Potter scored a 76 on this test," Snape said to the class, brutally marking the test with a quill dipped in red ink. "And that, class, is your first lesson: Fame isn't everything." The Slytherins sniggered at Snape's remarks.
Snape scribbled one last thing on Harry's test and let the parchment fall in front of Harry. When he looked down, Harry saw the score scrawled and circled next to a sentence in the same red ink: "It was foolish to expect so much from the Boy Who Lived."
Snape looked out upon the class and said in a more vociferous way, "Now, here is your second lesson: if I say something important or pertinent to this class, you write all of it down, word for word." Growling, he added, "So, can any of you tell me why not one of you has written anything I said while we went over these questions?"
The class quickly began scrawling everything Snape had said, to the best of their memory.
"Ravenclaws, take note," the professor told them. "Your housemate, Miss Granger, had the highest score in the class, though it is painfully evident that she parroted every one of her answers from the text. I expect you to put your answers into your own words from now on, Miss Granger."
"Yes, Professor," said Hermione, dejected after her victory.
"All the same...five points to Ravenclaw," the professor said. "Hufflepuff, your housemate, Mister Longbottom, had the lowest score. As such, you lose five points."
The announcement turned everyone's heads to see Neville moping at Snape's words. Harry felt the bile rise in his throat as the professor slammed a book down on his desk.
"It is abundantly clear that none of you are up to the standards I expect of you all," he growled. "That said, if we have to start someplace, we will start with the most painfully simple potion that anyone can make, even the most simple-minded wizard. Open your books to page ten."
The whole class, even Harry, Hermione, and Neville, complied with the professor's order. Books hit tables, pages rustled as the students scrambled to get to page ten and not incense Snape any more than he already had been.
"You are to brew the Potion to Cure Boils," said Snape. "You have thirty minutes to complete it. It should not take you any longer than that. When you are done, raise your hand and I shall check your work. Start, now."
Cauldrons clattered and phials clinked as all the students set up their stations. Harry got his set up first and quickly read off the list of ingredients. It certainly wasn't complicated at all, compared to the other potions Harry saw in the textbook. He began cooking the ingredients, paying close attention to flame his cauldron sat over, making certain it got neither too cool nor too hot. He crushed snake fangs and weighed dried nettles, focusing entirely on the task at hand. Snape swept about the dungeon, criticising everyone, especially Harry. That was, everyone except for Malfoy, who he seemed to favour. Harry found it hard to believe that Snape could favour anyone, let alone Malfoy. But, he was, and he gloated to the other students over how Malfoy stewed his horned slugs to perfection.
Just as he said that, clouds of acid green smoke spewed out of Neville's cauldron. The entire class jumped up on their stools in right as they saw Neville's cauldron melt into an amorphous blob. Neville was covered in his botched potion. He screamed and his skin broke out with horrible red boils. Snape waved his wand. The potion covering the floor and Neville disappeared, as did the smoke clouding the entire room.
"Idiot boy!" Snape cursed. "I suppose you added the quills before you turned off the flame. Brocklehurst, take him to the hospital wing."
The Hufflepuff girl took her housemate out of the classroom, Neville whimpering weakly as they left.
"Potter!" Snape shouted, rounding on Harry. "Why didn't you tell Longbottom not to add the quills? Did you think you could make yourself look better than him?"
Harry had a bad feeling that no matter what he said to Snape, the professor would use that against him. So, Harry answered, "I was focused on my own work, Professor. I wasn't paying attention to what Neville was doing."
"Why on earth not?" Snape shouted.
"Because I didn't want to mess up my potion, sir," Harry replied. "I want to do well in this class."
Snape fumed at Harry's answer. Squinting with rage, the potions master growled, "Five points from Gryffindor for your negligence, Potter. And another five for your cheek."
Harry was about to yell at the unfairness of it all before Ron grabbed his shoulder and whispered, "Don't make him any angrier. He can get really nasty."
Harry collapsed back in his seat, upset at being humiliated and being stripped of points just because Snape wanted to take him down a peg. The rest of the class went by without any other interruption. Harry kept his head down, focusing on the last part of his potion. He could feel Snape's eyes on him, expecting the professor to take any opportunity to rob Gryffindor of any more points.
The students left the class grumbling about how horrible Snape was to everyone. Well, everyone except the Slytherin students. They muttered about how he treated Harry and Hermione and Neville.
"It was just unfair how he singled you out," Hermione said to Harry. "We ought to bring a complaint to the Headmaster."
"And make things worse?" replied Harry. "I have a bad feeling that he would treat me worse than today, Hermione."
"You can't leave this alone, Harry," she told him.
"And I can't let people to think I'm just some tattle-tale. Besides, it sounds as though this is commonplace. Everyone has said that Snape favours Slytherin above all the other Houses."
"That's no excuse," Hermione snapped. "We shouldn't have to put up with this just because of some stupid bias."
The argument ended once they entered the Great Hall.
"If you won't say anything about it, I will," she told him. "And you can be certain I'll be heard."
With that, she stalked off to her table, leaving him feeling like he wasn't standing up for her at all. He knew, however, he couldn't do so all the time. He wasn't certain he could stop her from confronting this issue. He would stand up for her if Professor Snape tried to humiliate her in class, if it ever came to that. The only thing he could do now was go and have supper.
***HPG***
That night, the students had their first Astronomy lesson, and it too was just as Harry and Hermione thought it would be. The entire class was just looking through their telescopes and writing down naked-eye observations of the night-sky and the objects their teacher, Professor Sinestra, told them to find.
The argument they had regarding Professor Snape still hung about them, but they focused solely on their observations. Neville had been released from the hospital wing by Madam Pomfrey, the school's healer, shortly after supper ended. His skin was still red from the potion, but he was there at the lesson, diligently scribbling everything he saw, and rather cheerful despite what had happened.
Professor Sinestra rattled off several pertinent facts until Hermione asked, "Professor, why is Astronomy such an important subject in Magic?"
The professor looked her square in the eye and replied, "The movement of the stars and planets affect many magical spells, objects, and planets, my dear. If someone does not pay close attention to those details, there could be some serious consequences. Therefore, it is important to know where the Sun, Moon, stars and planets are in the sky, relative to where a witch or wizard is on the planet, day or night."
The rest of the class went on without interruption, not any intended one, anyway. The only other interruption came about when Neville accidentally turned his telescope into something resembling a laser.
The class ended about an hour later. Everyone filed down from the top of the Astronomy Tower and back into their Houses. Harry, Ron and Susan walked downstairs, followed by Hermione and Neville. Hermione stopped them and took them all aside to an alcove just off to the right of the stairs.
"We ought to start a study group," she said to the other kids.
"Hermione, can't this wait until tomorrow morning?" said Harry.
"Yeah," Ron agreed. "We need to get to bed."
All the other kids filed past until they were the only ones left. "Look, we can be the best ones in our class if we get this organised right now," Hermione told all of them.
"Fine, we'll do it," said Susan, in a rather exasperated tone. "Can we please get to our beds now?"
"Yeah, that homework from McGonagall sounds really difficult," said Neville. "And I'm really tired."
"All right, fine," Hermione said. "We'll talk about the rest of this tomorrow. Let's get back to our Houses."
They went down the stairs. There was no indication of where the other kids had gone. Nor was their any way of knowing which way they ought to go.
"Come on," said Harry. "Let's try to find our way back to our Houses."
The five students began their walk to their Houses. All too soon, though, they found themselves lost in the school. Even worse, they were out alone at night and out of bed. They had to regain their bearings and get to their Houses as soon as possible.
"The staircases should be close," said Hermione. Harry believed her, even though she sounded unsure of herself.
"You're certain?" asked Susan, obviously not as confident in Hermione's sense of direction as Harry was. It felt like they had been wandering the halls for ages before they came to a hallway, dimly lit by widely spaced torches.
As they walked down the hallway, Harry felt a strong sense of worry at their situation. Harry had a feeling they shouldn't be here. Well, obviously, they shouldn't be there. They should've been back in bed, instead of here. But, something about this place made Harry feel like he shouldn't be here even during the day.
"What part of the school is this?" Ron asked no one in particular.
"I don't know," Neville replied. "I've never been to this part before."
"I know where we are," said Susan. "This is the third-floor corridor, the one they said we weren't allowed to go into."
"We have to get out of here," Hermione cried.
The cry of an animal turned their heads. It was a meow. The children looked behind them to see a cat sitting on its haunches, glaring at the lot of them.
"Oh, no! That's Missus Norris!" Ron shouted.
"Run!" Harry cried. All five kids ran in the opposite direction as the cat. Mrs Norris slinked after them, never taking her eyes off of them. The kids reached a door at the far end of the corridor. Neville struggled to open it, but it wouldn't budge.
"It's locked!" he shouted.
"Stand aside!" Hermione yelled. With a wave of her wand, she cried, "Alohomora!"
The door's deadbolt clicked and the door opened only a crack. Harry shoved it open and dashed inside. Hermione, Ron, Neville, and Susan followed him. Mrs Norris dashed away from them, yowling to anyone who would hear her.
As they shut the door, Harry felt a wave of relief wash over him as they closed the door. Filch wouldn't catch them, nor would Mrs Norris lead him to them.
Harry's relief, however, soon turned into fear as he caught sight of fur. Fur that was as black as midnight, but still noticeable in the faint moonlight. Harry's eyes followed the fur down to a long tail that curled around what looked like a dog's back leg. He followed the pitch black fur speckled with white spots in the opposite direction to find not one, not two, but three heads of dogs all dozing, peacefully unaware that humans had just traipsed into their vicinity.
"Why did they lock that door?" Harry heard Ron asking.
"To keep students out," Hermione replied. "Because students aren't allowed in here."
"Why wouldn't students be allowed in here?" asked Ron.
"Because of that," said Neville, whose eyes were locked on the same creature as Harry's were.
As Ron and Hermione first saw the dogs, they finally stirred awake. The dogs stood up on paws as big as manhole covers. It took the five children a few moments to realise that three dogs weren't getting to their feet. No, one dog was standing up on its feet, and that dog had three heads.
As it finally stood to its greatest prominence, it glared down on them. It uttered a guttural growl and bore its sharp, white fangs. Harry looked up at the beast standing before them. He thought of the tales of Ancient Greece, of the heroes who journeyed into realms of Elysium and Tartarus, traveled across the rivers such as the Styx and come face to face with Cerberus, the great three-headed dog that acted as sentry to the realm of its master, Hades, the lord of the underworld.
Any eloquent thought such as that fled from Harry's mind as another, more pressing thought entered it and repeated itself over and over again:
That thing is really bloody massive. How many teeth does it have in all? Is it going to kill me? It probably is.
That thought no doubt crept into Susan, Neville, Ron and Hermione's minds as they quickly screamed in fright as they met the dog's gaze. Harry's scream almost instantly joined theirs. Ron dashed and tore open the door. Hermione ran out, followed right behind by Neville, Susan, and Harry. Just as one of the dog's heads snapped at them, Ron slammed the door shut and Hermione locked it once more. The children scrambled out of the corridor as quickly as they could. They heard Mrs Norris yowling again and Mr Filch shouting after her.
"Show me where they are, my dear," Mr Filch called, with a certain glee about his voice.
"We have to get as far away from him as possible," Hermione whispered.
"What do we do?" asked Susan.
"Follow me," said Harry.
Harry led them all out of the corridor as Mr Filch and Mrs Norris scoured the hallway for them. Harry had no real idea where he was going. He was just going on instinct. Nothing more, nothing less. They crept along the hallways, peeking around every corner, acting as nonchalant as they possibly could so as not to attract any attention from Filch and his cat. Once they were well away from the third floor, they all let out a gigantic sigh of relief.
Neville whispered, "That thing was gigantic. Its heads nearly touched the ceiling."
"What are they doing, keeping a thing like that in the school?" asked Ron, in an angry tone of voice.
"You weren't looking at the ground, were you?" asked Hermione. "You didn't see what it was standing on?"
"I wasn't looking at its feet," Ron snapped back. "I was more concerned about the three heads with teeth that would've bit my head off. If I did look at its feet, I'm sure I'd be looking paws with claws that could've taken my head off too."
"I'm not talking about its feet," said Hermione. "I'm talking about the trapdoor it was standing on."
"What trapdoor?" asked Neville.
"Honestly, do boys never use their eyes?" she muttered to herself. To them, she said, "The dog was standing on a trapdoor right in the centre of the floor. It's there because it's guarding something."
"She's right," Susan told the boys. "There was a trapdoor under the dog."
Harry thought back to when he saw the dog stand up for the first time. Now that he thought about it, he remembered one of the dog's paws shifted over something made of wood. It was a dark sort of wood, but it was still noticeably different from the stone floor where it was set.
"There was," said Harry. "I remember now."
"That's right," Hermione said.
"What could it be guarding?" Ron wondered.
"It's none of our business," said Hermione.
"How isn't it any of our business?" he asked her.
"Because it's not," said Neville. "Our coursework is enough to deal with as it is. Now that I've seen what's in that corridor, I can stay away from it like Dumbledore told us to in the first place. Good night." With that, Neville went downstairs toward the kitchens, where Hufflepuff House presumably was.
"Neville is right," Hermione told them. "We need to focus on our schooling and not on any fanciful notions about that dog."
"You're really not interested in what that dog is guarding?" Harry asked her.
"No, I'm not," said Hermione. "Like I said, it's none of our concern. Now, I'm going back to my Common Room, study, and then go to bed. That is, unless you have another brilliant scheme to get us killed—or worse, expelled."
Neither Harry nor Ron had a response. So, Hermione replied, "Good. See you in class tomorrow," and left to retire to Ravenclaw Tower.
"Your sister really needs to sort out her priorities," Ron told him.
"Actually, that was her at her most sensible," Harry replied.
"But, she's right," said Susan. "This isn't any of our business, and we should get to bed."
The three Gryffindors walked back to Gryffindor Tower. As they passed by the Fat Lady, snoozing in her frame and sleepily letting the kids through as they told her the password, Harry thought about the dog being in the school. It would have to be there to keep people away from something really important, wouldn't it? But, what could it be?
AN: So that's Chapter 9. There are slight changes to the sequence of events from here on out, most notably meeting Fluffy sooner than before. It felt a little more natural to introduce him sooner.
On a personal note, I got a new job, so that means more time to write, especially on breaks and on days off. :D
Thank you, everybody, for still following!
