Hyaci here!
Here's chapter 8. Oh, and if you have time, please check out the poll on my profile. I'd appreciate it ;D
Chapter 8: Fluffy Poodles and Pandas
It was the week after Christmas break, and classes had resumed. Harry slid into the assigned seat, wincing when he felt the cold hardness of the chair he was sitting on. The classroom (in the dungeon) was frigidly cold- not what he'd been expecting, since the common room (also in the dungeons) had been pleasantly toasty and warm. Though it was under a lake, the room had obviously had some sort of spell cast on it to keep it warm the whole time. When he'd mentioned his theory to Hermione, she'd agreed that it was likely, although she offered up a few alternatives, such as the release of body heat, and an efficient way of trapping it.
Now however, he had to concede that Hermione may have been onto something. If heating spells for such a large scale room existed, surely they could have been cast on the chilly potions classroom. Instead, everything was cold- the floor, the chair, the desk, the air, the windows were crisscrossed with frosty designs, not unlike interlocking chains, and the potions lining the shelves all looked frozen. Some of the potion jars had animals suspended within their frozen contents- live animals. Indeed, one of the less visually appealing creatures seemed to survey the room with pitiably fearful eyes that moved back and forth. Harry shivered, feeling strangely vulnerable in this distinctly creepy place.
Potions. A class with the Gryffindors. Harry groaned, and hid his face in his hands as he thought of a slightly unpleasant redhead that tagged along with his group every day.
Sure enough, Ron bounded up to him, a dopey Gryffindor smile plastered on his face. Harry surreptitiously checked the seating chart magically projected to the front, and confirmed his theory- Ron had ignored the seating chart in order to sit next to his celebrity friend. Reading the name of the person who was supposed to sit beside him- Millicent Bulstrode- Harry supposed that things could be worse.
"Hey there Harry," Ron said, an insincere smile on his face. "We're changing seats today, right?" He probably knew perfectly well that they were; Snape had been dropping obvious hints about placing the all the Gryffindors in a circle around Neville Longbottom, in the hopes that they'd all die.
Ah, Snape, the potions master, and head of Slytherin house. Although he never singled Harry out with his cruel jokes and jibes (which were exclusively reserved for Gryffindors, like the perpetually clumsy Longbottom boy), Harry got the feeling that he disliked him. Every so often, he would feel a cold prickle, feel the hairs rise up on the back of his neck, and he'd look up and catch Snape glaring at him in an unpleasant manner. Quickly, he'd look down, to avoid the man's gaze.
Naturally, this hidden dislike, Harry had faithfully reported to his friend Hermione, who promised that she would look into it somehow. Cho had just listened sympathetically.
This, obviously, made them suspicious of Snape, even going as far as to- after the quidditch match- suggest that Snape had jinxed the broom. Though Harry wouldn't put it past him.
"Yeah," Harry said, not deigning to point out the seating chart that was bright and obvious in the front of the classroom.
"I wonder what Snape has in store for us today?"
"No idea."
Everything with a claim to significance that day had all started when the unobtrusive Neville- quite innocently, in his endearingly, bumbling clumsy manner- stirred his potion counterclockwise rather than clockwise, causing the potion to turn a color not unlike the blush on his face when Snape snidely reprimanded him. Harry understood, however, Neville's predicament. None of the Slytherin or Gryffindor first years had any great aptitude for potions- there were a few talented people, but nothing outstanding. In fact, most people present had absolutely no idea what they were doing, which meant that, more often than not, the whole of the class was subject to Snape's ire. This, in turn, caused the students to try to pressure others into doing well, which subsequently caused decreased performance quality. It was like a never ending cycle, and Neville was just stuck further in the rut than most.
Quickly- and stupidly- he tried to undo his mistake by stirring the potion clockwise twice.
"NO,YOU FOOL-" Snape was blustering now, his face redder than the color of Ron's hair. Harry noted that it was a particularly unattractive look for him.
Snape never had a chance to finish his sentence, because at that exact moment, Neville's potion- which was supposed to be a Wiggenweld- became extra sensitive to the air around it. At the same moment, Ron chose to let gas escape from his bowels with a whoosh and a grunt. And as the tendrils of flatulence made it past a few Slytherins -who wrinkled their noses at the smell- it came into contact with Neville's cauldron, which frothing in a somewhat dangerous manner.
The effect was instantaneous- the room was enveloped in a green cloud of smoke that was scented not unlike Ron's fart. Immediately, cries arose from every part of the room, drowning out Snape's incoherent roaring, and Neville's indistinct whimpering. Harry could bear the stench no longer (having lived the majority of his life in a broom cupboard that smelled of cleaning agents) and fled the room, not caring whether or not he would be marked truant.
It was Hemione's free period, and she felt that she had just enough time to check out the room past the archway Snape had gone through the night of the troll.
She wasn't particularly worried- she felt safe at Hogwarts. Surely, the teachers had taken every precaution available in order to ensure the safety of the students. Hermione didn't dream that there was any possibility of danger. She felt fearless, as she tread down the path that Snape had ventured down on Halloween night.
It led to, she was surprised to note, the third floor corridor. At the end of it, there was a large wooden door, dark grooves marring its smooth surface. There was a brass handle, one with a design totally different to the rest of the handles. In other words, the door looked inviting. It was inviting, beckoning her on… In a burst of curiosity and uncharacteristic impulsiveness, she grasped the handle and gave it a light tug.
Nothing; the door did not give. It was locked shut. The handle didn't even so much as wiggle when she pulled on it with all of her twelve year old strength.
She narrowed her eyes, and came closer to examine the handle. She could discern no strange unlocking mechanism, and so she resolved to attempt to open it with magic. If that didn't work, she always had her trusty bobby pin.
Hermione pulled her wand from her pocket, and pointed it at the lock, before whispering in a rather demanding tone, "Alohomora."
At once, a thin, smoky blue light was issued from the tip of her wand. It slithered and curled itself around the air, before sliding effortlessly into the lock. A loud click, and the door was ajar. She scrunched up her forehead in thought. This was the forbidden third floor corridor? Broken into by a first year with a simple Alohomora?
She wasn't sure if she felt safe in Hogwarts anymore, not if these were the security measures. After all, she knew for a fact that there were spells, enchantments that could be utilized so as to keep the door locked, even to the unlocking charm. Whoever had tried to keep students out of this room had obviously not gone through enough effort.
Her hand slid in between the door and the doorframe, and she slowly pulled the door open, towards herself, and peered in, all curiosity. Before her mind could even register the sight before her, she clenched her hand, ground her teeth, closed her eyes, and broke into a sweat.
Oh. Merlin's. Baggy. Y. Fronts.
Inside the forbidden third floor corridor, easily accessible with a twitch of a wand and a first year spell, was a voracious, vicious, man-eating three headed, oversized dog with saliva oozing down the side of its mouth, yellowed canine teeth bared into a cruel, wicked smile. Black matted fur decorated the sides of its face, with hairless patches thrown haphazardly over its entire being, like spots. Bacteria and viruses lurked within its open jaw, ready to gift any victim with a convenient septic infection.
A Cerberus. An illegal animal, according to the extensive research she'd done. That had no right to be here, where it could potentially endanger the hundreds of students that lived and breathed the air of Hogwarts.
No, no. This wasn't happening. She wasn't sharing a school with an illegal animal- a dangerous illegal animal, one that could probably finish her off in one bite, and then use her wand as a toothpick.
She backed away, slowly, fearfully, apprehensively. She had to escape without being noticed, or else her short life- an unfulfilled life- would be over. Gone in a puff of smoke, devoured by the horrific three headed hound before her. Slowly, slowly…
CLANG!
Hermione whirled around, and noticed quickly that she had backed into a table, smashing vases on the ground. A loud growl behind her alerted her to the fact that the dog had become aware of her presence, and suddenly, her legs felt jellylike and useless. If she tried to run, she'd probably be caught before she took the first step. Still, she had to attempt an escape.
And she was out of there, as fast as she could be, back towards the library, her safe haven, her sanctuary. She ran like the wind, her legs blurring, her hair flying in the wind behind her, making loud whooshes as she made particularly fast turns. Her mouth, open, panted for breath as she fled the third floor corridor, towards the heaven, the nirvana, the beautiful eden, filled with bookcases and books, and the smell of musty leather and parchment.
In fact, Hermione had left so fast, she had barely any time to notice that the dog was resting upon a particularly out of place trapdoor. That it had been guarding something.
Harry had been sitting on the grand staircase, gagging and leaning against the banister for support, when she'd darted past him, slapping him in the face with that incredibly bushy hair, drawing his attention in an instance. She was flushed- probably from running all over the place.
"Hermione?" he called out.
She didn't turn around, instead just turning another corner and flying excitedly down the steps, faster than he'd ever seen her run before. He frowned- she hadn't noticed him. With others, he usually didn't care, but Hermione had always seemed particularly attentive to him, and he'd grown slightly spoiled. So if she hadn't noticed him, something was going on- the world was ending, the sky was falling.
Almost reflexively, he rose to follow.
"Hermione? Hermione!"
Her head spun around, her eyes staring at him uncomprehendingly, her legs still carrying her down the steps. As she turned, she grabbed the banister to steady herself, and closed her eyes, still breathing hard. Her forehead creased, proof that she was thinking, and when she finally opened her eyes, they were the calm, intelligent ones that he remembered. She let go of the banister, and slowly headed up the stairs, with amazingly stable balance for someone who had been running uncontrollably for the past few minutes.
"Hello, Harry," she said calmly, her voice toneless and uninviting. She was warning him not to pry.
"Hey, Hermione." He hesitated, before curiosity got the best of him. "What happened?"
Annoyance briefly flashed in her eyes, before she smoothed it over with a blank expression. She smiled a mirthless smile, and said, "Nothing." She sounded contrived, insincere, Harry noted, with growing interest.
"You were running away from nothing," he said, unconvinced.
She raised an eyebrow. "Fine. I was just investigating Snape's suspicious activities during Halloween, which led me to the third floor corridor, where I encountered a massive Cerberus that would probably eat me the first chance it gets."
"Sarcasm? I very much doubt that any of the teachers would risk a Cerberus in the school."
"You caught me." She raised her arms to the air. "I was actually evading Terry."
"Boot?"
"Yes. He's taken a liking to Cho lately, and wants me to set them up."
That, at least, was true. Recently, the two had been seeing less of Cho, since Boot had been attempting to monopolize her attentions. It had become quite annoying, really. That annoyingness only became more evident when he had approached them individually, begging for an introduction. They had both turned him down politely, but he persisted. Eventually, Harry would just ignore him, while Hermione had a tendency to disappear whenever Boot made his presence known.
He got the feeling however, that Hermione was hiding something from him, evading his questions, deflecting his comments with a lighthearted air, one so transparently and blatantly artificial. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but let it pass, glancing up, his eyes settling at the third floor corridor. He was sure he knew what she'd been up to, and he had half a mind to check for himself.
Harry was under a cloak of invisibility, one that allowed him to simply blend into the night, disappear like a chameleon. He'd received it at Christmastime, with a note, stating nothing more than the fact that the deliverer had been an acquaintance of his father. Naturally, Harry was curious as to who the acquaintance was (and hoped to interrogate them, extract all they knew about his parents, of which he knew but little), but as the note wasn't signed, and there was no other way to trace whomever it was, he'd been forced to abandon prospects of such a search.
Nobody knew of the cloak, not Malfoy, not Cho, not even Hermione. He rather preferred to keep it this way- his cloak was the sole remaining legacy of his father, and he felt it was only fair to keep it top himself. He currently entertained no plans of telling any of them, and he doubted he ever would.
So, it was under this infallible cover that Harry snuck out in the middle of the night, determined to learn the truth about the nature of the secret that Hermione had chosen not to divulge to him previously. His suspicion was that it had something to do with the third floor corridor.
Quickly, he shuffled out of the common room, across the cold stone floor of the dungeons, up to the great hall, up the steps of the Grand staircase. He was quickly getting nervous, and felt that he was going way too fast. He thought about slowing down, but knew that if he did, there was a fair chance he'd lose his nerve entirely.
Then, far too quickly for his liking, he found himself on the third floor. Slowly, he propped open the door and peered into the corridor.
It was empty,
He ran in, quickly, up to the wooden door at the end. It looked forbidding, dark, even a little evil. Very intimidating, but not to Harry. Though still with some reservations, he drew upon his stores of bravery that the Hat had alluded to in his sorting, and gave the handle a squeeze, followed by a half-hearted tug.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Harry turned around, and walked briskly towards the door.
Smack dab into Hermione, whom he knocked down.
"Homenum Revelio!" Her voice came out in a whisper.
Immediately, Harry felt something swoop over him, and he ducked.
"Who's there!"
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