"Excuse me," a voice interrupted the three of them. It was Granger, butting in obnoxiously, as she always does.
Draco, Harry, and Ron turned to look at her. Ron was the first to clash back, though.
"Can't a person eat in this place in peace?" said Ron.
Draco watched the mudblood ignore Ron and turn to him. Draco normally would have been worried, he remembered the Golden Trio being thick as thieves- in the old timeline of course, when they had been at school. He remembered the Weasel and Mudblood Granger worshipping Saint Potter, never leaving his side. But Granger and Ron in this new version of events didn't even seem to like each other. Was that Draco's doing? Was that first meeting on the train supposed to go differently?
Whatever Draco's part in this screw up, it didn't have to mean anything. Granger's influence on Saint Potter in the old timeline was obvious. She was the brains of the operation, for nearly all of their adventures. But Draco had foresight, and it didn't matter if Granger was a part of the group. He could serve them just as well.
"I couldn't help overhearing what you and Zabini were saying-"
"Hmm?" Draco snapped out of it, bored. Granger was still talking.
"-and you mustn't go wandering around the school at night, think of the points you'll lose Gryffindor if you're caught, and you're bound to be. It's really very selfish of you."
"It's really none of your business, Granger," said Draco.
"So good-bye," said Ron.
All the same, it wasn't what you'd call the perfect end to the day, Draco thought, as he lay awake much later listening to Ron and Harry falling asleep (Neville wasn't back from the hospital wing). He'd spent all evening trying to convince Harry that Zabini didn't really want to duel them, only get them caught out of bed at night by Filch.
"It's exactly what I would do!" He'd said, the other boys not knowing that that was the truth. And Draco had done it.
Ron kept trying to give Harry defense strategies, like "If he tries to curse you, you'd better dodge it, because I can't remember how to block them." Draco had snorted and laughed, Weasley at eleven years of age was just so stupid.
But then, Ron's stupidity had scared him. If Draco failed (and he wasn't exactly confident about his plan), then these kids, these little kids would be facing a war. And if that wasn't depressing enough, Draco hadn't even managed to convince Harry to not go and face Zabini. Harry was doing this because it was his big chance to beat Blaise face-to-face. He couldn't miss it.
"Half-past eleven," Ron muttered at last, "we'd better go."
They pulled on their bathrobes, picked up their wands, and crept across the tower room, down the spiral staircase, and into the Gryffindor common room. A few embers were still glowing in the fireplace, turning all the armchairs into hunched black shadows. Draco shivered, convincing himself he wasn't afraid of the dark.
They had almost reached the portrait hole when a voice spoke from the chair nearest them, "I can't believe you're going to do this, Harry."
A lamp flickered on. It was Hermione Granger wearing a pink bathrobe and a frown. Typical of prepubescent Granger.
"You!" said Ron furiously. "Go back to bed!"
"I almost told your brother," Hermione snapped, "Percy- he's a prefect, he'd put a stop to this."
Draco couldn't believe anyone could be so interfering.
"So we're doing this," he said to Ron, acting as if she wasn't there, "come on, let's go." He pushed open the portrait of the Fat Lady and climbed through the hole.
Granger wasn't going to give up that easily. She followed Ron through the portrait hole, hissing at them like an angry goose.
"Don't you care about Gryffindor, do you only care about yourselves, I don't want Slytherin to win the House Cup, and you'll lose all the points I got from Professor McGonagall for knowing Switching Spells."
"Go away."
To be frank, Draco earned more points than her for his practical work, not regurgitated textbook answers.
"All right, but I warned you, you just remember what I said when you're on the train home tomorrow, you're so-"
But what they were, they didn't find out. The Mudblood had turned to the portrait of the Fat Lady to get back inside and found herself facing an empty painting. The Fat Lady had gone on a nighttime visit and Hermione was locked out of Gryffindor Tower.
"Now what am I going to do?" she asked shrilly.
"That's your problem," said Ron. "We've got to go, we're going to be late."
They hadn't even reached the end of the corridor when Granger caught up with them.
"I'm coming with you," she said.
"You are not."
"D'you think I'm going to stand out here and wait for Filch to catch me? If he finds all three of us I'll tell him the truth, that I was trying to stop you, and you can back me up."
Draco thought that they'd have better luck with McGonagall than Filch, she was still half-convinced he was about to break.
"You've got some nerve-" said Draco loudly.
"Shut up, both of you!" said Harry sharply. "I heard something."
It was a sort of snuffling.
"Mrs. Norris?" breathed Draco, squinting through the dark.
It wasn't Mrs. Norris. It was Neville. He was curled up on the floor, fast asleep, but jerked suddenly awake as they crept nearer.
"Thank goodness you found me! I've been out here for hours, I couldn't remember the new password to get into bed."
"Keep your voice down, Neville. The password's 'Pig snout' but it won't help you now, the Fat Lady's gone off somewhere."
"How's your arm?" said Harry.
"Fine," said Neville, showing them. "Madam Pomfrey mended it in about a minute.
"Good- well, look, Neville, we've got to be somewhere, we'll see you later-"
"Don't leave me!" said Neville, scrambling to his feet, "I don't want to stay here alone, the Bloody Baron's been past twice already."
Draco could empathize with Longbottom, for once. He didn't fancy being stuck outside the portrait hole, either.
Ron looked at his watch and then glared furiously at Hermione and Neville.
"If either of you get us caught, I'll never rest until I've learned that Curse of the Bogies Quirrell told us about, and used it on you.
Granger opened her mouth, perhaps to tell Ron exactly how to use Curse of the Bogies, but Harry hissed at her to be quiet and beckoned them all forward.
They flitted along corridors striped with bars on moonlight from the high windows. At every turn Draco expected to run into Flich or Mrs. Norris, but they were lucky. They sped up a staircase to the third floor and tiptoed toward the trophy room.
Zabini nor the girls were there yet. The crystal trophy cases glimmered where the moonlight caught them. Cups, shields, plates, and statues winked sliver and gold in the darkness. They edged along the walls, keeping their eyes on the doors at either end of the room. Draco took out his wand just to be safe. The minutes crept by.
"He's late, maybe he's chickened out," Ron whispered.
"Of course, he's chickened out! He was never planning to come in the first place!" Draco turned on him. But he froze when he heard the next voice.
"Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner."
It was Filch speaking to Mrs. Norris. Horror-struck, Draco waved madly at the other three to follow him as quickly as possible; they scurried silently toward the door, away from Filch's voice. Neville's robes had barely whipped around the corner when they heard Filch enter the trophy room.
"They're in here somewhere," they heard him mutter, "probably hiding."
"This way!" Draco mouthed to the others and, petrified, they began to creep down a long gallery full of suits of armor. They could hear Filch getting nearer. Neville suddenly let out a frightened squeak and broke into a run- he tripped, grabbed Ron around the waist, and the pair of them toppled right into a suit of armor.
The clanging and crashing were enough to wake the whole castle.
Draco stood there, frozen, as Harry shouted, "RUN!"
The five of them sprinted down the gallery, not looking back to see whether Filch was following- they swung around the doorpost and galloped down one corridor then another, Draco in the lead, without any idea where they were or where they were going- they ripped through a tapestry and found themselves in a hidden passageway, hurtled along it and came out near their Charms classroom, which they knew was miles from the trophy room.
"I think we've lost him," Harry panted, leaning against the cold wall and wiping his forehead. Neville was bent double, wheezing and spluttering.
Draco had never hated anything so much. He was, annoyingly, on edge, his eyes darting around, focusing on the corners of the room.
"I-told-you," Granger was gasping, clutching at the stich in her chest, "I-told-you."
"We've got to get back to Gryffindor Tower," said Ron, "Quickly as possible."
"Zabini tricked you," Granger said as Draco let them take the lead, "You realise that, don't you? He was never going to meet you- Filch knew someone was going to be in the trophy room, Zabini must have tipped him off."
Draco knew this, of course. He scowled in the darkness. No one could see it.
"Let's g-go," he said, his voice both stuttering and annoyingly high in pitch. He felt unnaturally warm and unnaturally cold at the same time, almost as if it were the opposite of a ghost passing through him.
Going wasn't that simple. They hadn't gone more than a dozen paces when a doorknob rattled and something came shooting out of a classroom right in front of them.
It was Peeves. He caught sight of them and gave a squeal of delight.
"Shut up, Peeves- please- you'll get us thrown out."
Peeves cackled.
"Wandering around at midnight, Ickle Firsties? Tut, tut, tut. Naughty, naughty, you'll get caughty."
"Not if you don't give us away, Peeves, please."
"Should tell Filch, I should," said Peeves in a saintly voice, but his eyes glittered wickedly. "It's for your own good, you know."
"Get out of the way," said Ron, taking a swipe at Peeves- this was a big mistake.
"STUDENTS OUT OF BED!" Peeves bellowed, "STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN CHARMS CORRIDOR!"
Ducking under Peeves, they ran for their lives, right to the end of the corridor where they slammed into a door- and it was locked.
"This is it!" Ron moaned, and they pushed helplessly at the door, "We're done for! This is the end!"
Draco could hear footsteps. "Move," he instructed, brandishing his wand. He tapped the lock, it clicked, and the door swung open- they piled through it, shut it quickly, and pressed their ears against it, listening.
"Which way did they go, Peeves?" Filch was saying. "Quick, tell me."
"Say 'please.'"
"Don't mess with me, Peeves now where did they go?"
"Shan't say nothing if you don't say please," said Peeves in his annoying singsong voice.
"All right- please."
"NOTHING! Ha haa! Told you I wouldn't say nothing if you don't say please! Ha ha! Haaaaa!" And they heard the sound of Peeves whooshing away and Filch cursing in rage.
"He thinks this door is locked," Harry whispered, "I think we'll be okay- get off, Neville! What, Draco?" For Neville had been tugging on the sleeve of Harry's bathrobe for the last minute, and Draco was making violent hand gestures to turn around.
The rest of them turned around- and saw, quite clearly, what. For a moment, they were sure they'd walked into a nightmare- this was too much, on top of everything that had happened so far.
They weren't in a room, as they'd supposed. They were in a corridor. The forbidden corridor on the third floor. The one Draco heard about at the sorting feast and had entirely forgotten about why it had been forbidden in his first year.
They were looking straight into the eyes of a monstrous dog, a dog that filled the whole space between ceiling and floor. It had three heads. Three pairs of rolling, mad eyes; three noses, twitching and quivering in their direction; three drooling mouths, saliva hanging in slippery ropes from yellowish fangs.
It was standing quite still, all six eyes staring at them, and Draco knew that the only reason they weren't already dead was that their sudden appearance had taken it by surprise, but it was quickly getting over that, there was no mistaking what those thunderous growls meant.
Draco and Harry both tried to find the doorknob- between Filch and death, he'd take Filch.
They fell backward- Harry slammed the door shut, and they ran, they almost flew, back down the corridor. Filch must have hurried off to look for them somewhere else, because they didn't see him anywhere, but they hardly cared- all they wanted to do was put as much space as possible between them and that monster. They didn't stop running until they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady on the seventh floor.
"Where on earth have you all been?" she asked, looking at their bathrobes hanging off their shoulders and their flushed, sweaty faces.
"Never mind that- pig snout, pig snout," panted Harry, and the portrait swung forward. They scrambled into the common room and collapsed, trembling, into armchairs.
It was awhile before any of them said anything. Neville, indeed, looked as if he'd never speak again.
"What do you think they're doing, keeping a thing like that locked up in a school?" said Ron finally. "If any dog needs exercise, that one does."
Granger had got both her breath and her bad temper back again.
"You don't use your eyes, any of you, do you?" she snapped. "Didn't you see what it was standing on?"
"The floor?" Harry suggested. "I wasn't looking at its feet, I was too busy with its heads."
"No, not the floor," Draco said, still struggling to find himself amongst the whirligigs swirling in his mind. He was trembling, he hadn't experienced a scare like that in so long. If he'd been expecting it, that was one thing, but Draco had gone on in all of his years at Hogwarts without knowing what was behind that door. "It was standing on a trapdoor. I think it's guarding something."
For once, Granger was making him think. She was standing up and glaring at them. "Well. I hope you're pleased with yourselves. We could have all been killed. Or worse. Expelled!"
She left without saying anything else. Ron stared after her, his mouth open. Draco was just tired.
"You'd think we dragged her along, wouldn't you?" said Ron.