VI. Some Really Petty Drama

"Sadie Whatever-Your-Middle-Name-Is Silverwood!" an infuriated Hermione shouted, hitting me with a pillow to wake me up.

"Alba," I yawned.

"What?"

"That's my middle name. Alba."

"Oh, cool! Mine's Jean." She took a deep breath and returned to her angry state. "Where were you last night? I stayed up past midnight waiting for you to come back! How long was that Howler?"

"Not long." I grinned. "But you sound an awful lot like it right now."

"Whatever," she muttered. "At least I got some studying in."

"It's the first week of school, Hermione. What could you possibly be studying for?"

"Flying lessons, of course!" she shouted. Her outburst woke up Fay Dunbar, who shushed us and promptly fell back asleep.

"Flying lessons?" I asked in hushed voice.

"Didn't you read the notice in the common room? You were down there for hours," she hissed. I spotted the dark circles under her eyes and felt a twinge of guilt for keeping her up so late.

"What notice?"

"The one about—hm, I don't know—flying lessons!" she snapped. "They start Thursday and I still have zero idea what to do! I've read every sentence of Quidditch Through the Ages, but it's just not something you can learn from a book, I suppose." She slumped down onto her bed, defeated.

"It's not as hard as it looks, okay?" I said. "You just have to get on a broom and... do things." I realized how difficult it was to put broom-riding into words. There's no way to describe the freedom of soaring through the air, and there's no way to explain how. You just have to experience it.

"How helpful," Hermione said through gritted teeth. "You still haven't told me where you were last night."

I considered telling her about Honeydukes, but I remembered that Fred, George, and I had broken curfew last night, and Hermione loathed rule-breaking. Getting Fred and George in trouble was the worst possible way to repay them. Besides, I didn't want to make her jealous. I snuck out with third years on the first weekend of school. I was friends with upperclassmen. The last thing I would want to do was make her feel like I was cooler than her.

"I fell asleep on the couches downstairs, okay?" I lied. "I woke up in the middle of the night, so I came up here. Satisfied?" She seemed suspicious, but eventually accepted my answer and walked away to get dressed.

Hermione's interrogation reminded me I still owed Fred and George money for the treacle fudge. Remembering it cost four Sickles, I grabbed six Sickles (some extra money for gratitude) out of my bag and left for the Great Hall.

Fred and George were already in the common room, playing a game of wizard's chess, which I interrupted.

"This is for the fudge," I offered, holding out the Sickles in my palm.

"It was only four—"

"Keep the change," I insisted, cutting George off.

I dropped the coins in front of them and rejoined Hermione, leaving them no time to protest.

"What was that about?" she asked.

"Nothing," I lied.

Then, my eyes caught the notice on the wall Hermione had told me about:

Gryffindor and Slytherin flying lessons begin on Thursday at 3:30 PM.

"Gryffindor and Slytherin?" I grimaced. That meant I'd have to spend four and a half hours with Draco every week, which was almost as much time as I spent with him at the Manor. And I was not looking forward to it.

The week seemed to fly by, and Thursday came much more quickly than I would've liked. Harry made it clear that he felt the same way.

"Great," he muttered. "I've always wanted to make a fool of myself in front of Malfoy."

"You won't make a fool of yourself," Ron assured. "Malfoy's been going on about how great he is at Quidditch, but I'm sure it's all talk."

"Well..." I said, letting my voice trail off.

"'Well,' what?" Harry asked.

"He's not good, is he?" Ron worried.

"Flying may or may not be the one thing he's capable of," I forced myself to admit. "Besides being a complete git."

"But he's not great, right?"

"He's better than me," I admitted.

"How good are you?" Harry asked, hoping I would tell him how wretched and untalented I was.

"Pretty decent, but I haven't flown in a while. So I might be a bit rusty."

Ron sighed. "Let's just hope Malfoy is, too."

The upcoming lessons were the most popular topic at breakfast. Everyone was sharing their experiences on a broom.

"The first time I rode a broom was a bit of a disaster, to be honest," I told my fellow Gryffindors. "All I remember is flying at a tree and waking up to a broken leg…and a broken broom, too."

Hermione listed off tips from Quidditch Through the Ages while Neville, whose grandmother had never let him ride a broom, absorbed every word.

"What if I crash into a tree and break my leg, too?" he worried.

"You'll be fine," I assured him. "I was five when that happened. And I was a pretty pathetic five-year-old. Don't worry, you're much more capable than that." Ron rolled his eyes at my statement, mouthing "I beg to differ."

"It's not as hard as it looks," said Hermione, mimicking my advice from a few days ago. "You just have to get on a broom and do things, right, Sadie?"

"Right," I muttered.

Hundreds of owls fluttered in, interrupting our conversation. It was no use searching for Firefly in the crowd. I didn't expect to get anything but another Howler, even though Draco received a package of sweets from home every day. It was almost as if the Malfoys played favorites or something.

It may be worth noting that I had received another letter from Manuel, in plain, legible print this time, explaining that he had no idea who Snape was and the other professor he was talking about must have retired. I cursed the previous Potions master for being old.

Neville received a letter from his grandmother every Thursday, so it was no surprise when his barn owl swooped down to the Gryffindor table. But today, the owl clutched a small red package between its talons, tied with a golden ribbon. Neville ripped open the wrapping paper at once, and pulled out a clear, spherical object filled with white smoke. He squeezed the ball, and the smoke faded into a deep red, replacing Neville's excitement with confusion.

"What's that?" Harry asked.

"It's a Remembrall," Neville explained. "If the smoke turns red, it means you've forgotten something... the problem is, I can't remember what I've forgotten..." He looked down at his grey shirt and black tie in dismay.

"Neville, your robes," I said.

"What about my—" He stopped mid-sentence as he noticed what he had left behind that morning. "My robes!" he exclaimed, oblivious to the fact Draco and his henchman were standing right behind him.

Draco snatched the Remembrall out of Neville's hand, only adding to the latter's panic. Harry, Ron, and I jumped out of our seats, ready to get Neville's Remembrall back, but McGonagall got there first.

"What is going on?" she fumed.

"Malfoy took my Remembrall, Professor," Neville said.

"Just looking," Draco mumbled as he handed over Neville's possession in defeat. He sulked away with Crabbe and Goyle, refusing to make eye contact with McGonagall. I tried to telepathically will her to take points from Slytherin, but she went back to the High Table without another word.

I wanted Charms and Transfiguration to last forever, but the dreaded flying lessons arrived soon enough. If nothing else, it was the perfect day for flying. The sun lit up the emerald grass, and a cool breeze rippled through the air. But the teacher, Madam Hooch, didn't look as nice as the weather. Her grey hair was short and spiky and a hawkish expression was frozen on her face. Even her name sounded harsh. Her personality was no different.

"What are you waiting for?" she demanded. "Hurry up and find a broomstick!"

We all rushed to the center of the field where two rows of broomsticks lay on the ground. Naturally, the Slytherins gathered on one side and the Gryffindors on the other.

"Now, put your wand hand out in front of you and say 'Up!' nice and firm," Hooch instructed.

We barely allowed her to finish her sentence before attempting to get our broomsticks off the ground. I stretched out my left hand, imagined the broom leaping off the grass, and shouted "Up!" in the most commanding voice I could muster. Mine shot up on the first try, along with Draco's and, to my surprise, Harry's. Hooch continued shouting tips over the cacophony of "up"s.

I looked over to my right to see Hermione's broom rolling in a circle as she angrily shouted at it to get off the ground.

"Don't get frustrated," I told her. "Be firm, not angry. And try to imagine the broom lifting itself up." She took a deep breath and tried again, following my advice. A couple of attempts later, the broom shot into her hand, nearly giving her a heart attack. She let out a squeal of joy at her success.

Neville was the last to gain control of his broom. As soon as he did, Hooch showed us the proper way to mount them. She scolded Draco and told him that he had been riding his backwards for years, and used me as an example of how to do it right. I mouthed "told you so" to Draco, basking in my glory.

"Now," Hooch began, "when I blow my whistle, kick off the ground, rise in the air a few feet—and a few feet only—and then land by slightly leaning forward. On my mark—one—two—"

But before she blew the whistle, Neville's nerves got the best of him. He kicked off the grass much harder than he should've and sent himself flying at an alarming rate. The broom rose dozens of feet in the air, swerving every which way, until it flipped over sideways and threw him off the side. He held onto the stick with one hand, desperately trying to pull himself up. Then, he made a fatal mistake: he looked down. His face whitened with fear, and his hand began to slip. We gasped as he lost his grip and came crashing towards us.

I turned away as he fell, dreading the results. There was a thump and a loud crack, and I hoped it wasn't his spine.

"Please don't be dead, please don't be dead..." Hooch muttered. "I don't want to do all that paperwork again..."

I opened my eyes to see a shuddering Neville rocking back and forth, clutching his wrist. I let out a sigh of relief from the knowledge that he was alive.

"Broken wrist," Hooch announced. "Come on, get up. Let's get you to the hospital wing..." She helped Neville stand before turning to face us. "If any of you leave the ground while I'm gone, you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch!'"

She helped Neville limp towards the castle, and not one person dared move a muscle until the two were out of sight. As soon as they left, Draco burst out laughing.

"Did you see his face?" he taunted, leading the rest of the Slytherins in a chorus of jeers against Neville. "Longbottom can't ride a broom to save his life!"

"I'd like to see you do better!" Parvati Patil challenged.

"I will, then!" Draco said before he caught something about of the corner of his eye.

I followed his line of vision to a small, shiny, object lying in the grass.

Neville's Remembrall.

"Look!" he exclaimed with a fake tone of excitement. "It's that dumb thing Longbottom's gran sent him!" He picked it up and tossed it in his hand.

"Malfoy, give it here," Harry said. Everyone fell silent to watch.

Draco ignored Harry and continued playing with the Remembrall.

I stepped forward. "Draco, give it."

"Why should I?"

"Draco Lucius Malfoy, give it."

A chorus of oohs erupted from the class at my use of his full name. If Draco was at all embarrassed, he didn't let it show.

"Maybe I should put it somewhere for Longbottom to find," he said, mounting his broom. "Up a tree, perhaps?" With a kick off the ground, he rose through the air effortlessly. Before any of us could blink, Harry was chasing after Draco on his broom.

"Harry, don't!" Hermione shouted. "You'll get expelled!"

Harry ignored Hermione and continued pursuing Draco. It came to him so naturally that you never would have guessed it was his first time flying. He flew straight at Draco, gliding with such speed that the latter barely got out of the way in time. I could see worry in his face for a second, but he continued gaining height, shouting "Catch it if you can, Potter!"

Draco threw the ball in the air and dove back to the ground, smirking. There seemed to be no hope of saving it, but Harry was determined. He darted towards the ball at an almost impossible speed. Just as we were sure the Remembrall would hit the ground, his hand swooped down to meet the grass, and the Remembrall fell straight in the center of his palm. The class burst into cheers and applause while I stood open-mouthed, wishing I had that kind of talent to combat Draco.

"HARRY POTTER!"

The cheering came to an abrupt halt. Harry's eyes widened as he turned to face McGonagall.

"Never... in all my years..."

"Professor, it wasn't his fault!" I blurted.

"Yeah, Malfoy started it!" Ron defended.

More defenses erupted from the crowd. Harry stayed silent, but he was frozen out of pure fear.

"Enough!" McGonagall snapped, ending our protests. The silence was deafening. She seemed to be calculating how to punish him: losing house points, detention, expulsion…

"Potter," she finally said, "come with me. Now."

Harry hung his head low and followed her to the castle. I found myself suffering the worst form of guilt: when you can't do anything to help the situation, but feel at fault all the same.

"Good riddance!" Draco exclaimed, and his friends cheered in agreement. I wanted to take a thousand points from Slytherin. He would always get away with things at my expense, but how could I stand by and let him do it to my best friends? My hand formed into a fist, ready to strike, but Hermione grabbed my arm to stop me.

"What are you doing?" she whispered. "Do you want to get expelled, too?"

I forced myself to relax. I figured I'd get back at him later.

Madam Hooch returned without Neville, and the flying class continued as normal. She didn't even seem to notice that Harry was gone.

It turned out I wasn't as rusty as I thought. We practiced rising and landing for the small remainder of class, and I completed the task with ease. But with what happened to Harry, I didn't feel at ease whatsoever. I knew all too well that he would be expelled, but what would they do to him in the meantime? According to Fred and George, hitting children isn't socially acceptable, but I couldn't help but worry.

After she dismissed us, I went straight to dinner without a word to Draco. I assumed Harry would have to leave immediately after eating, and I wanted to say my goodbyes.

Harry was at the dinner table, just as I had expected. There wasn't a single bruise on his face, but there wasn't a trace of sadness, either. In fact, he looked delighted. He was eating and chatting with Fred and George as if he had never been in trouble. Ron and I sat next to him, as usual, and asked him what happened with McGonagall.

"Expelled? Oh no, she didn't expel me," Harry explained, to my relief. "She made me Gryffindor Seeker! That's good, right?"

A small part of me was hoping he would get expelled, just to see Harry Potter have to face serious consequences for once. But of course, he was rewarded for breaking the rules. If I was in his position, I'd be expelled in the blink of an eye. But no, not the beloved Harry Potter.

"That's great," I said through gritted teeth and a forced smile. "So, how did you manage to do all that, anyways? You told me you've never ridden a broom!"

"It was easy. I just got on a broom and did things. Like Hermione said to at breakfast." I was glad my advice came to some use.

"First years never get picked for Quidditch," Ron pointed out. "You must be the youngest Seeker in a century!"

"Wood told us about you," George said. "You must be good. He was pretty excited about it."

"We're on the team too," Fred said. "We're Beaters. Wood will explain it all to you, I'm sure. Have to warn you, though, his Quidditch captaining is a bit intense."

George nodded. "He takes it very seriously."

"Anyways, we have to go. Lee Jordan reckons he found a new secret passage."

"Probably the one behind Gregory the Smarmy we found our first week."

"Whatever," Fred mumbled. They waved goodbye and walked off.

"Did Malfoy get in trouble?" Harry asked. "For flying?"

"Sadly, no," Ron said, to which Harry sighed.

"This is normal," I said, stabbing at my chicken. "He always gets away with things by blaming other people—mainly me—and I'm sick of it."

"Then why don't we turn the tables?" Harry suggested.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Get revenge."

"Revenge on Malfoy?" Ron exclaimed. "Count me in."

"Funny you're talking about getting revenge on me," Draco said from behind Ron and Harry, making us jump in our alarm. "How are you going to do that if you're back home with the Muggles?" He stretched out the last word with disgust.

"You're a lot braver now that you're on the ground with your little friends to protect you, aren't you?" Harry retorted, glancing between Crabbe and Goyle. "Sorry about your luck, Malfoy, but I wasn't expelled. In fact, I'm the youngest Seeker in a century now!"

Draco's jaw dropped. "How—"

"Karma." Harry shrugged.

"Look, Potter," Draco spat. "I could take you on and earn points for Slytherin any day. They might even give me a trophy."

"You think you're so tough on your own?" Harry mocked. "Prove it."

"Oh, I will," Draco snapped. "Tonight. Wizard's duel—wands only, no contact. You up for it?"

"Anytime."

"I'll be his second," Ron volunteered, jumping to his feet. "Who's yours?"

"Crabbe," Draco said, leaving a hurt look on Goyle's face. "Meet me in the trophy room at midnight. Unless you're too scared."

The three strutted away laughing, giving Harry an opportunity to discuss the plan with us.

"Question," Harry announced. "What's a wizard's duel?"

"It's a fight where you can only use wands, no contact, like Draco said," I explained, angry at him for agreeing to something he knew nothing about.

"Fantastic," Harry muttered. "And what do you mean you're my second, Ron? And why did I agree to this?"

"A second's there to take your place if you die," Ron answered.

"If I what?"

"And you agreed to this because you're an idiot," interjected Hermione, who was now standing over Harry with a worried, but disappointed expression on her face.

"First of all," Harry began, "can we eat in peace, please? Second of all, what's this about me dying?"

"I'm sorry, but I just couldn't help but overhear what you were saying to Malfoy," Hermione said, ignoring Harry's second question. "You shouldn't do it. Ron's right, you could die!"

"I never said he could die!" Ron defended. "I just said I'm there in case he does. Which he won't. Not even Malfoy knows enough magic to do any real damage."

While the arguing continued, I wondered why Draco would even suggest a one-on-one duel. Ever since he met Crabbe and Goyle, he's had them do all his fighting for him. He's had them beat me up for him on multiple occasions, sometimes just for his own amusement. Was he brave enough to fight on his own?

No, he wasn't.

Maybe Draco predicted Harry wouldn't agree to the duel and he would've proven Harry a coward. Maybe he would back out now that Harry accepted his challenge. Or what if he was planning to back out from the beginning?

Draco tried to get Harry in trouble just an hour ago. He almost succeeded, but instead ended up turning his enemy into a star Quidditch player. But if there's one thing I know about Draco, it's that he doesn't give up easily. What if this was all part of his master plan to get Harry expelled?

"Maybe Hermione's right," I admitted. "This could be a bad idea."

"What?" Harry questioned, taken aback. "One minute ago you were all 'yeah, I'm sick of that Malfoy guy, except I call him Draco because I'm weird, let's fight him', and now you're saying this is a bad idea?"

"Okay, first of all, I call him Draco because I live with two other Malfoys."

The horror of this realization became evident on Harry's face. "I'm so sorry."

"So am I," I grumbled. "Second of all, Harry, you were already almost expelled once today. At least wait twenty-four hours before you do something stupid again."

"And you'll lose points for Gryffindor!" Hermione pointed out. "You're bound to get caught, with Filch, and Mrs. Norris, and all the ghosts—"

"Fine," Ron said. "You goody-two-shoes can go follow the rules all you want, and Harry and I will go do something with our lives."

"That's really selfish of you—"

"And it's really none of your business," Harry retorted. "Come on, Ron." They darted out of the hall.

"They'll get themselves expelled," Hermione said with a sigh.

"You'll help me stop them, won't you?" I asked.

"How?"

"We don't let them leave the common room. Simple as that."

"I'm not staying up till midnight again—"

"I guess we'll just have to let them lose a couple hundred points for Gryffindor, then..."

"Fine," she conceded. "I'll go with you."

And so, at half-past eleven, once everyone was asleep, Hermione and I snuck down to the common room in our pajamas. When we arrived, Harry and Ron were only footsteps away from the portrait hole.

"You're not leaving this room," I threatened. They both froze, startled, and turned around with an exasperated sigh.

"You've got to be kidding me," Ron muttered.

"Could you just stay out of this?" Harry said.

"Not when you're going to lose points for Gryffindor!" Hermione cried, causing both Harry and Ron to roll their eyes.

"Look, I know Draco better than any of you," I said, "and he wouldn't fight someone without Crabbe and Goyle. Can't even beat me up himself and I'm weak and underfed, so what does that tell you?"

"It tells me to be very concerned about your home life," Ron worried. I forgot that wasn't normal.

I ignore him and changed the subject. "And the other thing about Draco is that he'll stop at nothing to get what he wants. What he wants is to get Harry expelled."

"Your point is?" Harry said, checking his watch.

I rolled my eyes at his obliviousness. "Don't you get it? He's not going to show up. This is probably all part of some elaborate plan to get you caught sneaking out at night."

"Or maybe he's waiting for us as we speak, and if I don't show up, he'll make sure the whole school knows I backed out. And it'll be your fault." Harry disregarded all of my advice and pushed open the portrait hole and stepped through, Ron following close behind. But Hermione and I weren't giving up that easily. We rushed through the door, determined to stop them before it was too late.

Suddenly, the door closed with a startling slam. Surprised and a bit confused, we turned around—to face an empty portrait. The Fat Lady had left her frame, leaving us stuck out here. We were bound to get caught. I wished we had a Marauder's Map of our own.

"Oh no, we've been locked out!" Ron whined sarcastically. "Whatever shall we do?"

"See? Even the portrait doesn't want to stop us," Harry said. Hermione and I resisted the urge to scream.

"We're coming with you, then," Hermione said.

"What?"

"We have no choice now, thanks to you," I pointed out.

"Fine," Harry grumbled, "but if we get caught, we're blaming you two."

"No, you're not," Hermione demanded. "If we get caught, we'll tell Filch that we were trying to stop you and got locked out. And you'll back us up." I nodded in agreement.

Ron's eyes narrowed in frustration. "You little—"

"You owe us," I said. "You're the ones who got us into this mess—"

"Shut up!" Harry whispered. "I hear something."

We all fell silent as we crept down the corridor. We looked at each other in panic as the sound breathing echoed off the walls, fearing it might be Mrs. Norris. We reached the corner, cautiously peered around the edge, and, to our surprise, saw a sleeping Neville curled up on the ground, shivering from the cold.

We tried to tiptoe past him, but he woke up in an instant. He jumped to his feet at the sight of us, a smile appearing on his face.

"Thank goodness you guys found me!" he yelled with relief. We all tried to signal for him to be quiet, but he didn't notice. "I forgot the password, so I had to sleep out here. I haven't made human contact in forever—" I put a hand over his mouth to make him shut up.

"The password's 'pig snout'," I whispered, "but the Fat Lady's gone, so it's useless at the moment. Now, we have places to be, so we'll see you later, okay?" I put a finger to my lips to tell Neville to be quiet and uncovered his mouth.

"Don't leave me out here!" he said in a hushed voice. "I've been alone for hours, and the Bloody Baron's creeping me out..."

We all exchanged reluctant looks, until Harry motioned for him to join us.

"If you get us caught, I'll learn how to do that Curse of the Bogies Quirrell's been talking about it and I'll use it on you," Ron threatened.

We fell silent again and continued sneaking to the trophy room, finally reaching it at five past midnight. And just as I predicted, Draco was nowhere to be found. But we weren't alone.

"Sniff around, my sweet, they might be in a corner," a raspy voice said.

Filch.

We all slowly backed away from the direction of the voice. Harry pointed to the left, where Gryffindor Tower was, and we followed him down the corridor, tiptoeing as quickly and quietly as possible.

"They're here somewhere," Filch said in the distance. His and Ms. Norris's footsteps drew nearer and nearer, making Neville scream and jump back into a suit of armor. We all froze and gave him death glare, knowing we were in serious trouble now. The footsteps were now darting towards us, becoming louder, and louder, until—

"RUN!" Harry screamed at the top of his lungs (an idiot move), and we ran towards Gryffindor Tower, knocking over various objects we didn't have the opportunity to identify. We made it to the Charms corridor, thinking we'd lost Filch, but something blocked our path.

A ghost in a jester outfit was hovering in front of us: Peeves.

"Oooooh!" he squealed in delight. "Ickle first years! Naughty, naughty, you'll get caughty!"

"Not if you don't give us away, Peeves. Please," Harry begged.

Peeves simply cackled again.

"Get out of the way!" Ron swiped at Peeves, which proved to be the biggest mistake any of us made that night.

"STUDENTS OUT OF BED!" Peeves called out, loud enough to wake up of all of Scotland. "STUDENTS IN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!"

We didn't need to hear Filch's footsteps to go bolting past Peeves. Unfortunately for us, the corridor stopped at a door with a padlock on it. The running footsteps were drawing nearer, and there was nowhere to go.

"This is it!" Ron panicked. "We're done for! And if Filch doesn't kill me, Mum will! I don't know which is worse!"

"Oh, would you stop it?" Hermione groaned. "Alohamora."

The padlock came undone and the door swung open. We hurried through and shut the door, and the lock clicked shut on its own. We all let out sighs of relief, only to freeze again at the sound of Filch's voice.

"Which way did they go, Peeves?" he asked. "Tell me!"

"Say 'please'," Peeves requested.

"I don't have time for this, Peeves."

"Shan't say nothing if you don't say 'please'."

"Fine. Please."

"NOTHING!" Peeves cackled. "Told you I shan't say nothing if you don't say 'please'!"

"If you were still alive, I'd murder you."

"I'm flattered."

"I think we're safe," Harry whispered. "And Neville, would you stop that?" Neville was tugging on Harry's bathrobe, refusing to let go. "What is it?" Harry demanded. Neville pointed a trembling finger behind us, and we turned around to face something that made Filch seem like a harmless kitten.

Towering over us was a three-headed dog-like creature ten times the size of an elephant. We staggered backwards at his growls, trapped between two horrors. "I'd rather get expelled than killed," Harry whispered before throwing open the door. Luckily, Filch and Peeves were out of sight.

We didn't stop sprinting until we reached the portrait hole, which was now complete with the Fat Lady.

"Where have you all been?" she inquired.

"Doesn't matter," Harry said, gasping for breath. "Pig snout, pig snout..."

The portrait hole swung open and we scrambled through it without a second of hesitation.

"What did I tell you?" I said.

"Can't remember," Harry said. "I'm still kind of processing that whole near-death experience thing."

"It was a trick," I reminded him. "Admit it. I was right."

Ron narrowed his eyes. "You don't have to be so—"

"Admit it."

"Fine," Ron and Harry mumbled.

"Moral of story: Listen to me."

Hermione loudly cleared her throat.

"And Hermione," I added.

"Anyone else wondering about that—that thing?" Ron asked.

"Don't any of you use your eyes?" Hermione said. "Didn't you see what it was standing on?"

"The floor, you mean?"

"A trapdoor, you dimwits!" Hermione snapped. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed before you come up with another clever idea to get us killed—or worse, expelled." Although I was a bit worried about her priorities, I began to follow Hermione to our dormitory.

"Trust me, we don't mind," Harry mumbled. I shot him a quick glare.

Hermione was right. That three-headed dog was guarding something, and I was determined to figure it out.