Author's note:

Hello! I hope you enjoy this chapter. I had to stick pretty close to canon for this part, but I hope I managed to give enough of a spin to it that it's not to dull. Any dialogue that came from the books obviously does not belong to me!

Rose had great difficulty stifling her anger as she marched down the familiar route to the Head of Slytherin's office. She had often needed to visit Slughorn there, and had she not been so furious, she may have found it amusing to think that both the last two heads of Slytherin House had been Potions Masters. Perhaps it was the fact that the Potions Classroom was so close to the Slytherin common room – or perhaps it was purely coincidence. Either way, it was irrelevant to Rose at that moment. The only thing she could think about, as she stormed through the stone corridors of the dungeons, were the words she was going to spit in Severus Snape's face the second she saw him.

When she finally arrived at the Potion's classroom, he was not there. She did not hesitate, but made her way through the space, given a murky green glow thanks to the bottles of substances that lined the walls, all the way to the back where the door to his office was. She raised a fist and pounded on the door, much harder than was polite. There were a few moments of silence, and then from behind the door came the sounds of someone standing up and their robes rustling as they approached. At last, the door was swung open to reveal a very disgruntled Snape. He was clearly annoyed at the disturbance, but his face took on an expression of calculated understanding when he saw who exactly his visitor was. Clearly, he didn't expect pleasantries or even basic manners from the school nurse, and nor was she inclined to give them.

"Can I help you, or is this visit purely recreational," he drawled, staring down his hooked nose at her. She was tall enough that they were able to look each other in the eye, but not so tall that he couldn't see the top of her head. She noticed he didn't bother to invite her in.

"Stay away from my son," she hissed.

It appeared that was all she had intended to say, because after a few seconds of staring menacingly into his black eyes, she turned on her heel and began to walk away. Snape, however, was relishing in having made her so furious, and took the opportunity to twist the knife.

"Ah, yes, that will be simple enough given that I teach him three times a week."

It worked. He knew that it would. It is impossible to be friends with someone for three years without learning how to push their buttons – and it seemed that, even after all this time, she had not changed all that much. She came charging back, her expression livid.

"Trust me, Snape, if I had the authority, he would never be within so much as a mile of you."

She pointed an aggressive finger at him, and the tip of her nail grazed one of the buttons on his doublet. A spark of something flashed through his dark eyes – satisfaction.

"Why? Afraid I might tell him the truth? That his father –" Here he paused to smirk. "– and his mother – are nothing short of murderers?"

He was eliciting just the reaction he desired. Something very dangerous was stirring in her eyes, and the tip of her finger that was so very close to his face began to steam lightly. It would take something more to push her over the edge into a full-blown episode, however – he would know, having seen a few close at hand. He stepped towards her, pushing her hand backwards, so that they were just inches apart.

"Go on," he murmured, egging her on. "I'm begging for you to give me a reason to have you sent back to Azkaban."

There it was – an expression of incandescent rage had flitted across her face, turning it briefly into a monstrous mask of itself. But then, quite unexpectedly, the muscles in her face smoothed themselves out into a nothingness that was infinitely more disconcerting. Snape couldn't help but narrow his eyes in confusion. He attempted to read her thoughts, a talent usually so second-nature to him, but as expected she remained an impenetrable fortress. He had never been able to use that trick on her.

"Stay away from my son," she repeated in a low voice. Then, without waiting to hear his response, she swept herself out of the classroom, leaving his cleverly-crafted reply to die unsaid on his tongue.

"If he stays, I go."

Dumbledore sighed heavily as he rested his forehead on his fingertips. Rose did not notice the gesture, too busy as she was pacing from one side of the headmaster's office to another. Fawkes, who remembered Rose Prewett from all those years ago, had perched on her shoulder the moment she had entered the room, and was now swaying back and forth happily as she stomped around, unaffected by her ghastly mood. It was an odd sight to say the least, and one that might have been amusing had the conversation taking place not been so serious.

"Rose, you will do no such thing." She opened her mouth to argue, but she was not given the chance. "Neither of you will leave Hogwarts, because you are both highly valued members of my staff, and I trust you both implicitly."

"Trust him?" She scoffed angrily, a harsh sound that reverberated around the walls of the circular office. "How can you trust someone like that? Someone who has proved himself capable of betraying others time and time again –"

"Perhaps," said Dumbledore forcefully, drowning out the younger teacher with ease, "I have surpassed you in knowledge of Severus Snape over the last eleven years when you were sadly absent."

It was involuntary – the disapproving tone of Dumbledore's voice made Rose stop in her tracks as though she were a naughty schoolchild. She internally cringed at her own subservience, but quickly recovered.

"What can he have possibly said?" she asked quietly, her deep brown eyes now gazing questioningly and directly at Dumbledore. "What could possibly be so compelling that it overrides what he did? What he did to me?"

There was a note of almost pleading in her words that Dumbledore could not ignore. He at last looked up, his eyes full of a surprising sorrow that Rose found herself unable to comprehend.

"My dear child," he said slowly, as though she really were no older than a first year, "you must believe me when I say that not a day goes by when I do not wonder what more I could have done to help you then – to have saved you from so much pain."

It was said so sincerely that Rose actually winced. She turned away, unable to face him as he spoke so candidly, and began to stare menacingly at a portrait of a dozing Tudor headmaster instead.

"So let me assure you that I would not have forgiven Snape for his actions against you had I not had evidence that his actions were not malicious –"

Here it was Dumbledore who found himself cut off by Rose exclaiming, "Not malicious!" and resuming her pacing around the room. The headmaster contemplated her for a moment, as if deliberating something, before saying gravely,

"Rose, do you remember when I visited you in Azkaban?"

A cloud rested over her face, and she could not look him in the eye. "Of course."

"I was doubtful of you, doubtful of the story you were spinning me, and I asked you to prove to me, somehow, that you were telling me the truth. To convince me that you were not the murderer that everyone was calling you. Do you remember what you told me?"

"Of course I remember!" Rose snapped, causing Fawkes to cluck worriedly and rub his head against her neck in a soothing motion. It was a mortifying memory, and she ground her teeth at the very thought of it. "Of course I do. It's not something you just – that you just forget."

Dumbledore bowed his head in acknowledgement of this fact, and gave her a few moments to restore her composure before adding, very gently, "Now I want you to imagine that I took that most precious secret of yours, a secret that was pulled out of you only in desperation, one that was never meant for my ears, let alone anyone else's, and that I repeated it in its entirety to Severus Snape."

Rose physically gagged at the mere suggestion, and had to put out a hand to steady herself on one of the nearby bookshelves. "You wouldn't – you can't –"

"Indeed, I wouldn't, Rose," he said firmly, standing to make his point with his palms resting on the desk. He went from a weary old man to a fearsome wizard in the blink of an eye. "So why do you seem to think that I could do the very same thing in reverse? What gives you the right to know Severus' most painful truth?"

He had a point, and Rose despised it. She despised him, she despised Snape, but most of all she despised herself, and the things she had done. She wanted to scream, shout, throw things around until the headmaster finally heard her – but she could not. She had already thrown everything she had at the problem, and nothing had convinced him.

"I think I should return to the hospital wing now," she said in a low voice. Without another word, and without any further protestation from Dumbledore, she removed the bird from her shoulder, placed him on the desk, and hurried out of the room.

"Mr Longbottom, is that you again?" said Rose kindly, as the sweet first-year boy was escorted into the hospital wing by Madam Hooch. She was in a slightly better mood than she had been all morning. After her meeting in Dumbledore's office, she had made herself a warm mug of mint tea and had spent the last few hours refusing to think of anything at all except her copy of the Daily Prophet that she had not yet had a chance to read. Thankfully for Neville, this meant that she was feeling decidedly more sympathetic to his cause than she would have been had he walked in only a few hours beforehand. She put her paper down and watched closely as the boy was brought to where she was sat behind her desk.

"Fell of his broom," barked Madam Hooch, shaking her head slightly as she presented Neville to the nurse. Rose smiled reassuringly at him, to which he responded with a sniffle. "There's one every year," the flying instructor muttered under her breath, shooting Rose a knowing look.

"Do you hear that, Mr Longbottom?" said Rose, patting him gently on the shoulder. "No need to be embarrassed, it happens all the time – now, where does it hurt?"

He raised his left hand, using his right, so that she could see it properly. It was red and swollen.

"Can you move it at all?"

Neville shook his head with a small sob. Rose sighed.

"A broken wrist?" ventured Madam Hooch, watching every movement with her hawk-like eyes.

Rose nodded. "Quite right… Don't worry, Mr Longbottom, it's a simple enough fix! We'll get you ready for dinner in no time."

"Perfect!" Madam Hooch clapped her hands together, and Neville jumped at the sound. "Do I have leave to get back to class then, Madam Prewett?" She looked around them quickly, as though scanning for other witnesses, before confessing under her breath, "I left the others unattended, and I'm not confident that a brawl won't have broken out by now – Gryffindors and Slytherins, you understand."

Rose understood all too well. "Of course! We'll be alright, won't we?" she asked, looking at her patient.

Neville nodded meekly. Rose had the feeling that he would have agreed to anything that would get Madam Hooch out of the room – he seemed even more nervous than he usually was.

"Excellent! I'll see you at dinner, Rose!" Madam Hooch called merrily as she made her way out of the Hospital Wing and back to class. Rose shot her a quick wave before putting a consoling hand on Neville's back and guiding him to the nearest bed. It took him a good minute to get up onto it, thanks to his shorter stature, and his only having one hand as leverage.

"She's a very nice lady, you know," she mused, as she skimmed through the medicine cabinet to retrieve a 'pain reliever'. In all honesty, it was a sugar syrup that she had brewed – he wouldn't be in enough long-term pain to warrant a real sedative – but she thought Neville was someone who might benefit from the placebo effect. As she returned to his side, she qualified, "Madam Hooch, that is. No need to be frightened of her."

The boy opened his mouth as if to say something, but simply let out another sob. Rose frowned worriedly.

"Is it really that bad?"

He said nothing in response, which Rose read as a yes. She glanced quickly at her surroundings – there were no other patients, no one to overhear or see anything they shouldn't. Perhaps she could get away with it, just this once.

"Hey – would you like to see my secret talent?"

This was the first thing she had said since the Quidditch coach had left that managed to penetrate Neville's pain enough that he made eye contact with her. He didn't verbally agree, but the inquisitive look in his eye was all the encouragement Rose needed. With deft hands, she put the vial of sugar syrup to one side and whipped off her dragon-hide gloves, the ones she wore in any medical setting, for her own protection, to reveal slender white hands.

"Give me your wrist."

Neville didn't question the direct order, and carefully placed his wrist in her palms. It happened very quickly. One second he was in unbearable pain – and the next, his wrist felt completely weightless. It was now Madam Prewett who was writhing in agony, her face screwed up as she let out a small gasp – but never once did she let go of his arm. And then, as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. Madam Prewett smiled at him brightly, letting go and slipping her gloves back on.

"There! Good as new."

Neville turned his hand over and over in awe. "How did you do that?" he said at last.

Rose grinned at the first words he had managed to say to her all day. "Magic."

Neville let out a small laugh, and Rose also giggled. It had been painful alright – a broken wrist was something she could have gone her whole life without experiencing – but it was worth it to see Mr Longbottom in good spirits again. "Now, remember," she said conspiratorially, bringing a gloved finger to her lips, "it's a secret. Promise you won't tell a soul?"

Neville brought his own finger to his lips. "Promise."

They smiled at each other. Perhaps, thought Rose, being at Hogwarts wasn't so bad after all.

For Robin, the flying lesson had been wholly uneventful. He had not proved himself to be a master flyer in any sense of the word, and he had been so disappointed by his performance – and the injury of poor Neville, in whose absence he had become the worst in the class – that he barely registered what was going on with Harry and Draco. He sat in the Great Hall glumly making his way through his rice pudding as Hermione filled him in on why it had been such a horrendous display.

"And Harry actually went after him! I mean, I'm not saying that what Malfoy did was right – obviously he's awful, but Harry could have been expelled! He probably has been! What do you think, does he look upset? I can't tell. McGonagall was so angry."

Robin glanced, bored, over at where his cousin and Harry were sat. If he were to use any word to describe their expressions at that moment, it would be 'giddy'. "Upset probably isn't the word I would use."

Hermione sniffed. "I suppose he wasn't expelled then. Well, he's incredibly lucky is all I'll say. I mean, to directly contradict the orders of a teacher like that! It's unthinkable – oh, Robin, look, it's Malfoy again! What does he want now?"

"His pride back," Robin sniggered, smiling for the first time since they had left the grounds. He had not forgotten his first encounter with Malfoy in Diagon Alley, nor how satisfying it had felt to land a punch right in his stomach.

"Let's see if we can get any closer, I want to hear what they're saying…"

"Oh, Hermione, I don't know…" murmured Robin uncomfortably as his friend began gathering up her plate. "Isn't that a little… weird?"

But Hermione gave him such a fierce look that he had no other option but to comply. They were far from sly as they shuffled up the benches until they were within earshot of the two boys, but thankfully neither Harry nor Ron seemed to notice, being too absorbed in their confrontation with the Slytherins. Malfoy's snide tones had no problem carrying across the general background chatter of the Great Hall.

"…Tonight, if you want. Wizard's duel. Wands only, no contact…"

Robin almost choked on his rice pudding, and Hermione gave him a confused look. He waved away her silent curiosity, resolved to explain later, when he knew more.

Ron was speaking now. "I'm his second. Who's yours?"

"Crabbe. Midnight all right? We'll meet you in the trophy room, that's always unlocked."

He walked away, and Hermione immediately began pestering Robin to explain what a wizard's duel was.

"Well, it's self-explanatory really – it's just a duel, but with wands and spells. I doubt they'll get much out of it when they've only been here a few weeks. I mean, do they even know a spell between them?"

"I'll bet Malfoy does," muttered Hermione darkly. She was glowering at her trifle, which was mostly untouched on account of how much she had been talking rather than eating. Suddenly, she slammed her palms on the table, causing Robin to drop his spoon. "That's it. I'm going to talk some sense into them."

"Now, Hermione, that's a really bad idea," Robin said hurriedly, but she had already stood up and begun walking towards Harry and Ron. He looked down at his rice pudding longingly, deciding that he was clearly destined never to finish it, before speeding after her. By the time he reached her side, it was already too late.

"Excuse me."

Harry and Ron looked up. Ron smiled at Robin, but his expression soured when he saw Hermione was with him. "Can't a person eat in peace in this place?"

"We couldn't help overhearing what you and Malfoy were saying –"

Robin did not appreciate the use of 'we' but couldn't think of a way to deny it without hurting her feelings.

"Bet you could," Ron muttered.

"– and you mustn't go wondering 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."

"And it's really none of your business," said Harry sweetly.

"Goodbye," said Ron.

Hermione's expression was difficult to describe, but it rested somewhere between embarrassed and furious. She stalked off angrily, and Robin was clearly expected to follow her. However, first he had a mission of his own to complete.

"Hey," he began awkwardly, somewhat ignoring Harry and talking directly to Ron. "Sorry about all that."

Ron scowled up at his cousin. "I don't get why you hang out with her, mate – she's a loon."

"She's alright really," Robin tried, but at the expression on Ron's face, dropped the topic immediately. "Actually, I was wanting to talk to you guys about something else –" He turned to Harry at last. "I don't suppose you remember what happened to Neville's Remembrall? Only I promised I'd get it back to him."

Harry blinked in confusion for a second before it all fell into place. "Oh! Yes, sorry, I'd forgotten – it's here."

From the pocket of his robe he produced the ever so troublesome glass orb. He threw it gently to Robin, which was a risky move given how uncoordinated Robin was.

"Thanks," he said, relieved. He stashed it away in his own pocket, thankful that Harry had not managed to lose it somehow after McGonagall had taken him away, which reminded him: "Oh, Harry! I meant to ask – how come you're still here? Shouldn't you be on the train home?"

Ron and Harry shot each other a sly smile. "Actually," said Harry, not without a hint of cockiness, "I've been invited to join the Gryffindor Quidditch team, as Seeker."

Robin's mouth fell open, and without even realising he fell into the seat next to Harry with a thump. "You're joking. But you're a first year!"

Harry just grinned. It was Ron who answered. "I know – mental, isn't it? And get this – McGonagall's even buying him a new broom!"

"Ron!" hissed Harry, glancing around them worriedly. "That was supposed to be a secret!"

"Ahh, don't worry about that," said Ron breezily, patting Robin on the shoulder here. "Robin's family, he won't tell anyone. Will you, Robin?"

The last bit was said with some emphasis, and Robin understood from this that he was not to tell Neville or – God forbid – Hermione. "Of course not. That's immense, though, Harry. You should be really proud of yourself."

If Robin hadn't known better, he would have thought that Harry blushed. "Thanks, Robin."

He supposed he should have felt jealous, Robin thought to himself, as he finally left the hall to try and find Hermione. After all, wasn't being on the Quidditch team something he had dreamed of for years now? And yet, as he bounded up the stairs towards the common room, he felt particularly unbothered. Perhaps, if he wasn't going to be busy at Quidditch practice all the time, he could join the chess club.

It was hours later when Ron and Harry, creeping their way through the Gryffindor common room, came across Robin, passed out in front of the fire in an armchair. He was dozing peacefully, having been tucked up under a blanket by a good Samaritan, a lock of auburn hair falling down into his face. The two boys approached him quietly, stifling laughs.

"What are you doing down here?"

Robin jolted awake and opened his eyes blearily. "Hmph – what?" He blinked a few times. "Oh, sorry, I was waiting for Neville – I must have missed him."

He yawned loudly, and Ron shushed him angrily. "You'll wake up half the castle!"

"What are you on about?" Robin looked down at his watch and suddenly understood. "Oh, blimey."

"Mmhmm," said Harry pointedly. Robin frowned – where on earth had Neville gotten to? Perhaps his mum had needed to hold the poor boy overnight.

"I suppose you two are off to the duel then?"

"Shhhhhhhh!" Ron looked like he might blow a gasket. "Are you mad? What if someone hears you?"

Robin was not to tired to be sarcastic. "Oh, yes, someone will definitely hear me at nearly midnight in a deserted common room."

He had felt pretty pleased with himself for that comeback – that is until the armchair closest to the porthole was swivelled around to reveal none other than Hermione herself, wearing a fluffy pink dressing gown and a frown.

"I can't believe you're going to do this, Harry."

The three boys jumped in shock at the sound of her voice. Ron wore a livid expression. "You! Go back to bed!"

But Hermione was not to be silenced. "I almost told your brother! Percy – he's a Prefect, he'd put a stop to this."

"Hermione, don't bring Percy into this," muttered Robin wearily, finally unwrapping himself from the blanket that he now realised she must have covered him with.

"I'll bring up whoever I want! At least Percy wouldn't be condoning this sort of dangerous behaviour, unlike you!"

The fact that Robin considered Hermione to be his closest friend at school meant that her words somewhat stung. Harry, on the other hand, was shaking his head in exasperation.

"Come on, Robin," he said, taking the taller boy by the elbow and pulling him to his feet. "We need to get going."

Robin was surprised to have an invitation extended to him. He hadn't thought that Harry and Ron cared for his company very much, but he supposed that his coming to their defence had enamoured him to them. For a moment, he hesitated – he wasn't particularly interested in duelling Malfoy, and he really was very tired – but the look of appal on Hermione's face spurred him on. If she was going to accuse him of something, it might as well be true. With one last look of defiance, he followed Harry and Ron out of the portrait hole.

Unfortunately, Hermione followed them too. "Don't you care about Gryffindor, do you only care about yourselves, I don't want Slytherin to lose the House Cup and you'll lose all the points I got from Professor McGonagall for knowing about Switching Spells."

The boys didn't turn around. "Go away."

"Please, Hermione, you're just making things worse –"

"Oh, shut up Robin!"

Somehow she seemed much more angry at him than anyone else, which he deemed mightily unfair, as he was only doing this because of her.

"Fine, but I warned you, you just remember what I said when you're on the train home tomorrow, you're so –"

Whatever she was going to say was lost, because at that moment she had turned around and come face to face with an empty portrait. The Fat Lady had clearly gone on a night-time jaunt, which left them all locked out.

She looked close to an aneurysm. "Now what am I going to do?"

"Look," said Robin desperately, coming to stand next to her. She may be annoying, but he wasn't about to leave her stranded in the corridor. "You'll just have to come with us, and then by the time we're back, the Fat Lady should be back too."

"Oh, no," said Ron forcefully, shaking his head so that anyone who couldn't hear him could visibly see his disapproval. "No, no, no, she is most definitely not invited."

Robin wanted to scream in frustration at the both of them. "Ron, we can't just leave her here, it's not safe! What if Filch finds her?"

Ron shrugged angrily. "See if I care!"

"You will care if she tells him what we're doing!"

"And I definitely would!" she piped up, her hazel eyes blazing.

Robin wasn't entirely sure if Hermione would do such a thing, but Ron clearly thought she would, because he was grinding his teeth in annoyance. "You've got some nerve –"

"Shut up, all of you! I heard something."

They whirled around to see Harry, looking intently around them. They listened too, and it soon became clear what he was talking about. It was a strange rustling, snuffling sound.

Ron went very pale. "Mrs Norris?"

But it wasn't Mrs Norris. Below the porthole and slightly to the left, none other than Neville Longbottom was curled up, fast asleep in his school robes. Robin beamed.

"Neville!"

The poor boy jolted awake. "Robin! Thank goodness you found me!"

Robin ran towards him and leant a hand to help him stand up. "I've been waiting for you in the common room – I wanted to give you this back."

He reached into his pocket and produced the Remembrall with a look of great satisfaction, before placing it into Neville's outstretched hand. It was difficult to tell in the dark, but Robin had the strangest suspicion that Neville's eyes were tearing up.

"Oh – thank you! I thought I'd lost it forever. I can't believe you found it!"

"Well, it was Malfoy who found it, actually, and Harry who got it back from Malfoy…" Robin said all of this very quickly, whilst awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. He didn't feel it was fair to take credit. "I'm just the delivery boy."

Neville didn't appear worried by this. "Thanks Harry!"

"No problem," said Harry, who was still nervously looking around for signs of Filch. "What are you doing here though?"

"I couldn't remember the password to get back into the common room."

"Keep your voice down, Neville," Ron muttered. "It's pig snout, but it won't help you now, the Fat Lady's gone off somewhere."

"How's your arm?" asked Harry.

Neville beamed yet again. For someone who had been sleeping on the floor for the last few hours, he was oddly cheerful. ""Oh, it's fine! Madam Prewett fixed it right up – she's really cool, your mum," he added to Robin, who couldn't help but feel a swell of pride.

"Good," said Harry quickly, "Well, look, Neville, we've got to be somewhere – we'll see you later –"

"No, don't leave me!" said Neville, panicked, looking to Robin for support, who didn't hesitate to jump in.

"We can't leave him, guys, he's our friend!"

Ron's expression made him seem like his brain was about to explode. "What are you trying to do, build up a pop group or something?" In desperation, he glanced down at his watch and then glared at Neville, Robin and Hermione. "If any of you get us caught, I'll never rest until I've learnt the Curse of the Bogies Quirrell told us about and used it on you."

They looked meekly back, barring Hermione who was still furious. The trip to the Trophy Room was decidedly quiet, each of them nervous for their own reasons. Personally, Robin was most concerned about running into McGonagall or – God forbid – Snape. He didn't need to give the Potions Master another reason to dislike him. Behind him, Neville seemed to be having similar thoughts, because he let out a small whimper. Without questioning his instincts, Robin reached back and took one of Neville's hands in reassurance. They would get this duel over with, and then it would be over and they could all go to bed. Sweet, sweet bed.

But when they arrived at the Trophy Room, it was empty. The five of them skulked around the sides of the room, backs flushed to the walls, watching warily. None of them wanted to give Malfoy and his cronies the opportunity to jump out at them. They needn't have worried – though they waited for nearly five minutes, the Slytherins never showed.

Ron's voice echoed through the darkness as he whispered, "He's late. Maybe he's chickened out."

But then came another, much less welcome voice, which caused them all to start.

"Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking around a corner."

Neville's grip tightened around Robin's hand at the sound of Filch's voice. Harry's face was filled with fear as he beckoned them to follow him out of the Trophy Room, and not a second too soon. The caretaker could be heard limping his way into the empty hall only a moment later, murmuring, "They're in here somewhere… probably hiding…"

"This way!" Harry mouthed, and they followed him without a second thought. He was leading them back into the corridor, as quiet as a mouse, but the tension was weighing heavy on them. Tall suits of armour loomed menacingly from every side as they inched their way through the gallery, each one appearing to them as an enemy waiting to pounce. They could hear Filch's steps behind them, inching ever closer. It was all too much for Neville – he let out a gasp and tried to run, towing Robin along with him, but they both collided into a nearby suit of armour. The noise was unbearably loud.

There was nothing else for it. "RUN!" Harry yelled, and they all followed him blindly into the night. The corridors all seemed to blur as they sprinted past them, panting with fear and physical exhaustion. Eventually they stumbled past their Charms classroom and, knowing how far this was from the Trophy Room, they stopped at last to catch their breath.

"I think we've lost him," Harry murmured as they all leant against the walls. A warm flush of relief flooded over Robin, and he sent Neville a reassuring look. The boy looked close to tears, and Robin couldn't help but feel guilty. After all, it had been him who had insisted Neville come with them.

"I – told – you," Hermione gasped. "I – told –"

"Will you be quiet?" Robin snapped. The other four looked up at him, startled. He wasn't sure quite what had come over him either, and felt bad at the hurt expression on her face. All he knew was that if Hermione tried to rub all this in their faces one more time he was going to scream.

It was Ron who broke the awkward silence. "We've got to get back to Gryffindor Tower – quickly as possible."

There was a murmured agreement as they all thought longingly of their warm beds. Hermione, who seemed to have recovered from the shock of Robin's outburst, went back on the offensive.

"Malfoy tricked you," she said, turning to Harry. "You realise that, don't you? He was never going to meet you – Filch knew someone was going to be in the Trophy Room, Malfoy must have tipped him off."

Harry didn't acknowledge this. Instead, he looked at the others. "Let's go."

It was too good to be true, that this might be the end of it. They had only walked down a few corridors when a doorknob close by rattled and Peeves the poltergeist popped out of it. He let out a malicious squeak of pleasure when he saw them, which caused Harry to panic.

"Shut up, Peeves, please – you'll get us thrown out."

Peeves just giggled in an obnoxious way.

"Wandering around at midnight, ickle firsties? Tut, tut, tut. Naughty, naughty, you'll get caughty."

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

But Peeves wasn't listening. "Should tell Filch, I should. It's for your own good, you know."

It seemed that Ron had reached the end of his tether with the entire night. "Get out of the way," he muttered, aiming a swipe at the poltergeist. Peeves' expression filled with rage.

"STUDENTS OUT OF BED! STUDENTS OUT OF BED IN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!"

They were out of luck. Though they ran for their lives, they quickly found themselves face to face with a locked door, and could hear Filch's footsteps approaching. Robin had terrifying visions of McGonagall's face looming out at him in the darkness, disappointment in her eyes. Then it was his mother, her gaze furious.

"There must be a way to get through!" he hissed, finally letting go of Neville's hand to jimmy the door handle for good measure. He briefly considered kicking the door down, but it was twice his size.

"There isn't!" Ron wailed. "This is it! We're done for! This is the end!"

"Oh, move over!" It was Hermione, shoving all four boys out of the way and snatching Harry's wand from his hand as she did so. She tapped the doorknob and said, in a firm but pressed voice, "Alohamora!"

The door miraculously swung open. Without hesitation, the five of them piled through it and then closed it behind them. Ron, Harry and Hermione quickly pressed their ears against the door, to listen for when the caretaker passed by, but Robin and Neville backed away, trying to put as much distance between themselves and Filch as possible.

At first, they could see very little in the dark. However, as they stepped further into the space – another corridor, as it turned out – torches along the wall began to magically illuminate. The fire had an odd blueish tinge to it, which gave the whole place a dingy air. Still, it was not dim enough to disguise what was in front of them. Robin and Neville's eyes widened as they stared into the face of a livid, three-headed dog.

Don't. Move. A muscle.

That was the only thing running through Robin's mind as he looked on at the horror in front of him. The dog had clearly only just woken, as it was glaring blearily around, furious at being disturbed. It appeared not to have spotted the two boys yet, and Robin was certain that any sudden movement would trigger a reaction. That being said, it was impossible to stay where they were. Unless the dog was blind, they were sitting ducks.

With an odd sense of calm that must have been caused by adrenaline, Robin found it within himself to lock Neville's wrist in a vice grip. Slowly but surely they began inching backwards, back to the other three. The sound of Harry's voice told Robin they were getting close.

"He thinks this door is locked."

Robin winced at the noise, and the way that the three-headed dog's ears pricked up at the sound. With great haste he reached behind him and tugged harshly on Harry's sleeve, not that the boy paid any attention.

"I think we'll be okay –" Another large tug. "– get off, Robin! What?"

And then he saw it – the all did. All five of them watched as the dog shook its heads roughly, to wake itself up, and growled. Harry didn't even stop to comment before he threw open the door. They all stumbled out of the corridor, and Robin slammed the door behind them. It was all he could do to stop himself from sinking to the floor, so shaky were his knees. Without any discussion, they all began to run again – Filch was nowhere to be seen. They were so scared that they managed to reach the Gryffindor common room in something close to five minutes, which was impressive considering that the common room had been four floors above them. Robin had never been so thrilled to see the Fat Lady before.

She looked down at them in alarm. Robin supposed they must have looked quite dishevelled. "Where on earth have you all been?"

Harry looked green as he replied, "Never mind that – pig snout, pig snout."

She dutifully swung forward and the five of them scrambled into the Gryffindor common. Hermione, Ron, Harry and Neville all fell into armchairs. Robin found himself quite unable to do anything but lie on his back on the floor in front of them, panting heavily. It was Ron who spoke first.

"What do they think they're doing, keeping a thing like that looked up in a school?" Robin couldn't see his face, but in his mind's eye, his cousin looked rather peaky. "If any dog needs exercise, it's that one."

"You don't use your eyes, any of you, do you?" Hermione hissed. "Didn't you see what it was standing on?"

"The floor?" Harry said weakly. "I wasn't looking at its feet, I was too busy with its head."

"No, not the floor. It was standing on a trapdoor. It's obviously guarding something." Robin knew she stood up here, because he felt the floorboards by his feet creak under her weight. "I hope you're pleased with yourselves. We could have all been killed –" Here she leaned over for a moment, so that she was making direct and angry eye contact with Robin. "– or worse, expelled. Now if you don't mind, I'm going to bed."

There were a few moments of shocked silence as she stomped up the staircase before Ron murmured, "Told you, you shouldn't have invited her Robin."

But after the night he had just had, Robin didn't want to hear it. Shaking, he managed to get to his feet before staggering wobblily to the staircase to the boys dormitories.

"If you ever want to hang out with me again," he said faintly, not bothering to look back, "please give me three days' notice so that I can write a will first."