To balance all the good in life at Hogwarts, the castle was host to less desirable personalities in the form of Filch, Mrs Norris, and Peeves. They were no less exasperating than Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon.

When a nasty cold fell upon Hogsmeade, it was only a matter of time before the virus made its way to campus with returning students. Third years and older were allowed to visit the village one weekend every month, so first and second years carried trays of soup and tea to their respective dormitories until it was their turn to fall ill. Mary was among the first students carrying trays of open liquid in the hallways, which she promptly fumbled when Filch screeched at them to be careful. A second year boy yelled at the custodian for startling Mary, and told him to talk to Madam Pomfrey if he thought they were doing anything wrong.

Mrs Norris was Filch's ancient feline familiar, who had a way of turning up whenever someone might be committing a punishable offense. The little rag doll saw Mary carrying vials of questionable substance from Professor Sprout to Madam Pomfrey, and promptly brought Filch upon her, who chastised her for making stink bombs.

"These aren't stink bombs!" Mary had protested, furnishing a note from herbologist to healer. "I'm not doing anything wrong!"

He was still sore about the bowl of soup she wouldn't have spilled if he hadn't started shrieking over it. Mary and fellow first years almost did get in trouble for a mess Peeves the Poltergeist caused. The belligerent spirit played keep-away with Neville's ink bottle, splashing the black liquid all over the corridor as students tried to retrieve it. Mrs Norris saw children making a mess in the hallway, and Filch was apoplectic. Fortunately, the Slytherin ghost – the Bloody Baron – happened by as the custodian threatened detention, and attested to Peeves' mischief. However grateful the students were for this charity, they thought they might prefer detention to running into the baron, in the future.

Unreasonable as those adult-type figures were, Mary was still used to the injustice of her aunt and uncle. She never thought she'd meet a kid more loathsome than her cousin, but that was before she met Draco Malfoy. The first-year Gryffindor class had only one class with Slytherin, plus the History of Magic conglomerate, so she could mostly avoid him. Unfortunately, Thursday flying lessons would be paired with Slytherin, and Malfoy took every opportunity to brag about his expertise.

He complained loudly about first years never getting on the House Quidditch teams and told long, boastful stories that always seemed to end with him narrowly escaping Muggle detection. Mary, Ron, and Seamus broke into peals of laughter when, on the morning of their first flying lesson, they heard him bragging about dodging a helicopter.

"And what," he demanded, "do you find so funny? I could've been cut to ribbons by those barbaric blades that keep them in the air!"

Pansy Parkinson gave a squeak of terror, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

"They're laughing, Draco, because if you'd ever actually seen a helicopter, you'd know how loud they are."

Mary noticed Ron stiffen while Seamus continued the roast.

"So are you actually deaf, or were you trying to get 'cut to ribbons'?"

Malfoy scowled and led his troupe away from the Gryffindor gander, and Ron wheeled Mary into a loose huddle with Seamus and Hermione.

"You can't call him by his first name," he told them, in a low voice.

"I didn't!" Seamus exclaimed.

Ron held up an appeasing hand. "Did you go to a muggle school before coming here?"

"Yes?"

Ron looked at Mary. "And what did you call each other?"

Mary thought back and couldn't recall any time she'd referred to a classmate by their last name.

"I mean," Seamus puzzled, "I thought it was weird, but I've only called him Malfoy…"

He looked to Hermione, who was beet red and silent from the reprimand. Mary figured she wasn't accustomed to being corrected by classmates – or being wrong about anything.

"For people like him," Ron explained, spitting the pronoun, "your family is the most important thing about you. He is from an old family, and he'll want you to acknowledge it."

"Then why should we?" Mary asked, but Seamus was nodding.

"I have a cousin who attends an academy with people like that. One of her best friends got in on scholarship, so everyone calls her by her first name."

"It's kinda like that," Ron nodded, "but here, they'll learn your last name to emphasize your importance. At least, how important they think you are."

"And how 'important' are the Weasleys?" Hermione asked.

Ron turned scarlet and found salvation in the arrival of the mail. The Great Hall filled with the sound of fluttering wings as large avians descended upon the tables, delivering parcels and letters to students. Mary had subscribed to The Daily Profit, which Hedwig proudly set next to Mary's plate, and promptly set to work on a slice of ham set aside for her dutiful delivery.

Neville's family barn owl landed with a small box in tow, and accepted a goblet of water of his own. Neville blushed as he opened the package to show his friends a palm-sized glass ball that appeared to be filled with white smoke.

"A Remembrall?" Dean Thomas asked.

"Yeah. Gran knows I forget things, so she sent me one to help me remember."

"How does it work?" Mary asked.

Ever more impatient to exhibit her vast wealth of knowledge, Hermione chimed, "You hold it tight in your hand, and if you've forgotten something…oh." She trailed off as the swirling mist turned red in Neville's grasp.

"The problem is," he said with a forlorn sigh, "I can't remember what it is I've forgotten."


Mary struggled to pay attention in the day's classes, and all but ran to the quidditch pitch for their three-thirty flying lesson. There was a mix of students offended by Hogwarts requiring flying lessons, others excited to be finally be in the air again, a minority of students who were indifferent, and a few who were downright terrified. Hermione had taken notes from a book called Quidditch Through the Ages, and she was reading the parchment aloud for anyone who would listen. Most ignored her, some pretended to ignore her, and Neville clung to her every word.

"Isn't it like riding a bicycle?" Mary asked, though she expected it to be easier with magic holding them upright.

"Bikes stay on the ground!" Hermione snapped, as though that explained everything.

Parvati shook her head. "You can ride a bike even if you don't want to. If you don't want to fly, the broom might not lift off."

This interrupted Hermione's last-minute cram lecture, and all the blood seemed to drain from her face. Mary wasn't sure if it was from fear of flying or failing. Perhaps a bit of both, but failure was clearly tantamount to criminal activity of the highest order.

Madam Hooch was waiting for them. Her gray hair stood a couple inches in length and tousled around her head like a thunder cloud. Her yellow, hawk-like eyes scanned their faces, and she nodded approvingly as they arranged themselves around two rows of broomsticks.

"What's the deal with her family name?" Mary whispered to Ron.

"Total coincidence. I heard her talking to Madam Pomfrey over supper, about an uncle on the Höch side who's afraid of heights."

"Welcome to Flying 101," said Madam Hooch in a commanding voice. "I understand that many of you feel you do not need this class, but if you want to fly in Hogwarts airspace, we need to make sure you understand broomstick safety and etiquette."

She proceeded to lecture them on posture, the proper way to call a broom, mount, dismount, and briefly touched on applied physics. Mary began to feel uneasy, fearing that she would forget everything in the next moment. Madam Hooch ended her lecture by returning to the top of the lesson.

"Hold your wand hand over your broom, and firmly say, 'Up'!"

Hermione shot Mary a begrudging look when her broom immediately jumped into her hand, while Hermione's merely turned over and stilled. Poor Neville's broom had barely wobbled, which was safer than Seamus's broom, which stood upright like a rake in an old slapstick comedy that Uncle Vernon made everyone watch when his sister visited.

Mary looked around and was surprised to find half the brooms still on the ground. It would seem most mages typically did not call their brooms, preferring to pick them up from wherever they're stored. Madam Hooch allowed everyone to pick their broom up off the ground, encouraging them to practice "the proper way" to handle a broom. Mary and Ron hid their smirks when she corrected Malfoy's grip.

"I've been doing it this way for years!" he protested.

"And you've been doing it wrong for years," she'd replied. "You wouldn't last three seconds in a quidditch match with a grip like that."

Madam Hooch scanned the class, making sure she had everyone's attention.

"Now, when I blow my whistle, kick off from the ground. Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down. On my whistle: three, two…"

Something in the grass startled Neville and he kicked off early. He rose swiftly and smoothly, sitting stiffly in place, arms locked straight in front of him, with his hands in a death grip on the broomstick. Madam Hooch called instructions to him, encouraging him to relax and lean forward. He followed the latter instruction without engaging the first, and drove the broom into the ground. Mary was sure she'd heard something snap, and she was positive that it wasn't made of wood.

The Gryffindors lurched forward to help their friend, but Madam Hooch barked, "Stay put!" She knelt by Neville and tsked. "Broken wrist. Come on, boy, let's get you to the hospital wing."

She kept up a stream of her terse encouragement as Neville stood and dusted himself off with his good hand. To everyone else, she said, "The rest of you stay on the ground until I get back, or you'll be out of Hogwarts faster than you can say 'quidditch'!"

Neville bent his head to hide tear-streaked cheeks, cradling his wrist as he followed Madam Hooch back to the castle.

When they were out of earshot, Malfoy crowed, "Did you see his face?"

His growing cluster of cronies cackled.

"Look what he dropped!" Pansy Parkinson gleefully squealed. Tossing an end of her sheer, green scarf over her shoulder, she knelt down and picked up Neville's Remembrall.

"Give that here, Parkinson," said Mary.

One corner of the Slytherin's mouth quirked as she handed it to Malfoy. Mary felt a flame in her chest ignite as her eyes slid from the girl's to his. She wordlessly held her hand out to him.

"You know what?" said Malfoy. "I think I'll put it somewhere he's sure to find it."

A broom jumped into his hand and he took off.

Seeing what Mary was about to do, Hermione shrieked, "Don't you dare! You'll lose us points, get expelled, and you don't even know how to–"

Mary was in the air and gaining on Malfoy after faintly hearing Hermione's warning of expulsion. Flying felt as natural to her as breathing, and she would later resent how her first experience was marred by some spoiled bully testing her.

When they hit their brooms' maximum altitude, Malfoy swung around to face her and covered his momentary shock with a laugh. "So you've mastered ascension!" He flipped the smokey gray ball in his hand and asked, "Think this would've helped Longbottom remember which way is down?"

Mary's fingers tightened around the broomstick and she charged him. He narrowly dodged her feint, but kept the ball from her lightning fast swipe.

"Not so tough up here without your bodyguards, are you?" Mary snapped.

Malfoy did appear worried by this realization, but then he smiled.

"You really want this, Potter? Catch!"

He held his arm out to the side and dropped the Remembrall. Without a second thought, Mary dove after it. Her hair lashed once across her face and wind screamed past her ears. The ground approached at an alarming rate, but she willed her broom to accede the pull of gravity. Within feet of the ground, Mary snatched the ball and pulled up, feeling the bristles of the broom brush grass. She bobbed a few feet above the ground and then safely landed.

Ron whooped and shouted, "Atta girl!" and their fellow Gryffindors laughed. Several Slytherins also looked relieved, but Hermione was visibly livid.

"What?" Mary asked. "I didn't crash and Madam Hooch isn't back, yet!"

"MARY POTTER!"

Mary winced, and Hermione raised her eyebrows, as though to say, "What did you expect?"

The unflappable Professor McGonagall came blustering across the field.

"You!" she snapped. "Come with me! The rest of you! Study Hall!"

Mary and Ron exchanged glances, and Mary tried to ignore Malfoy's smug grin.


"So what happened?" Ron demanded over dinner.

"I got detention," Mary replied, making sure her voice carried down the table.

"That's no fair!" said Parvati. "How is Malfoy getting out of detention?"

"Professor McGonagall never saw him in the air," said Mary, sullenly.

Seamus slapped his napkin on the table. "That doesn't make any sense! He touched down after you!"

"I bet it's money," said Dean. "His family's loaded, so I bet they donate enough that Malfoy never even gets bad grades."

"That might make sense if someone other than McGonagall had caught her," Ron argued. "This whole thing just stinks."

"I don't really wanna talk about it," Mary told them, keeping her eyes on her plate. "Where did you all go for Study Hall?"

The lot of them burst into laughter. Study Hall had been with Professor Binns, so they worked on the "Halloween essay", as they called the assignment for its due date. Pansy Parkinson cited her great grandmother as some sort of village savior, as her blood had been used in a ritual to cleanse the local well water. What made this extraordinary, according to the Slytherin, was that the great woman had been in her late forties, at the time, and she was still as pure as the driven snow.

Ron claimed he hadn't been eavesdropping, but his undeniable snort gave him away. Before he needed to defend himself, Hermione had interjected, "Virgin blood only means that hers had never been used in any magic until that point in time. It's difficult to come across because children are always injuring themselves, and doctors use the child's blood in spells and potions to help them heal."

The mortified Parkinson accused Hermione of slander, and Study Hall erupted into five minutes of pandemonium. Professor Binns timed it, figuring the students would settle better if they sorted it out themselves. When this proved to not be the case, he erupted into a fire demon to cow them into silence.

"We should've known it was all show," said Ron. "He didn't give off any heat, but he looked wicked!"

Dean, who turned out to be a talented artist, held up a charcoal sketch of the scene, vague on the assembly while detailed on their demonic teacher. Mary was impressed.

"And then he gave us an in-depth lecture about virgin blood and what it isn't," Lily groaned. "I never expected to get any version of the talk from a ghost."

Parvati and Lavender nodded in fervent agreement and Mary brightened.

"So I'm the one who got off easy!"

Several Gryffindors threw bread crusts and half eaten rolls at Mary, who stood and raised her hands in surrender. She picked up her bag and excused herself from the table, complaining of homework she needed to finish to make time for detention. On her way out of the hall, she greeted Hedwig, who flew in with the evening post. Having no mail to deliver, she made herself comfortable on Mary's shoulder.

"You know," Mary said to her, "I don't know how much more I'm going to grow, and you're starting out almost too big for this. Have you reached your full size?"

"Mary!" Ron called, catching up to her in a few swift strides.

Mary tried not to be jealous of his long legs.

"Is that really everything?" he asked. "I'd be a lot angrier if I were you."

"You'd be a lot better looking, if you were her," said a red-headed apparition.

"Not now, George," Ron groaned.

"But we have such good news!" Fred announced, spinning in front of Mary and dropping his voice. "But you should be the one to tell him."

After a stunned moment, Mary turned to Ron and quietly explained, "My 'detention' is actually quidditch practice with Oliver Wood. I'm Gryffindor's new Seeker!"

"It's a secret, though!" George warned.

"So don't tell anybody!" said Fred, swatting Ron on the back of the head.

With that, they departed as quickly as they'd appeared.

Rubbing the back of his head, Ron hissed, "That's gotta make you the youngest House player–"

"In a century!" Mary exclaimed. "And McGonagall said my dad was a gifted Chaser, so maybe I have some natural talent to make up for everything I don't know?"

"You'll be brilliant," Ron assured her, although Mary was sure she sensed a little envy from him. "And if anyone gives you trouble, Fred and George are Beaters."

"I don't know what that means."

Before he could explain, an oily voice asked, "Did you enjoy your last meal, Potter?"

Malfoy stopped in front of Mary, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle.

"You look excited to return to your Muggle family."

"And you look a lot more confident on the ground with your bodyguards," said Mary, putting a reassuring hand to Hedwig's ruffled back.

They weren't far from the Great Hall and the High Table was still full of teachers, so Crabbe and Goyle couldn't do much more than scowl and crack their knuckles.

Ron laughed. "You literally just crack your knuckles at us?"

"Malfoy, are they going to beat us up for you?" Mary asked in mock terror.

He stepped closer, putting them nearly nose-to-nose. Malfoy stood slightly taller, but Mary didn't need to look up to meet his eyes.

"I could take you on my own," Malfoy seethed, ignoring Hedwig's warning hiss. "Tonight, if you want. Wizard's duel."

"Can't," Mary smirked, "as I'm a witch."

Malfoy's glare deepened. "What's the matter? Scared, Potter?"

"You wish," she replied cooly.

"Wands only – no contact. Oh!" He snapped his fingers and stepped back. "I just remembered, you have no idea what I'm talking about."

"Of course she does," said Ron, blocking Malfoy's retreat. "I'm her second. You got one of those?"

"Crabbe," Malfoy said, maintaining eye contact with Mary.

Mary thought Goyle looked a little hurt, so she threw him a quick smile and returned her attention to Malfoy.

"Midnight," he told her. "We'll meet you in the trophy room. It's always unlocked."

The trio shouldered around them and strolled into the Great Hall.

"What did I just agree to?" Mary asked as they ascended the staircase. "And what do you mean by you're my second?"

"Well," Ron said evenly, "in a proper duel, a second takes over if the primary combatant dies." Catching Mary's expression, he quickly added, "But neither of you are fully trained, so you can't do much beyond throwing sparks at each other."

"And what if I wave my wand and nothing happens?"

"Drop it and punch him in the nose?"

"He said no contact!"

"You're letting him make all the rules? He already chose midnight and the trophy room."

"Sounds like neither of you care about rules, anyway."

They met Hermione at a crossway.

"You're hearing things," Mary muttered.

"I couldn't help overhearing you say something about a duel," said Hermione.

"You can help anything if you try hard enough," Ron assured her.

She continued her admonition all the way to the Gryffindor Common Room and dropped her voice to a whisper as they drew closer to other students.

"Think of all the points you're going to lose us if you're caught, and it'll be a miracle if you're not. This is really very selfish of you!"

"And it's really none of your business," Mary replied, turning from her and taking a seat on a cushion near the fireplace. Hedwig settled into her lap as Ron spent the evening teaching her basic self-defense spells. Hermione dropped into a chair across the room and made a show of ignoring them.


Of all the choices she had ever made in her life, Mary was sure she'd made the two dumbest on the same day. Her first mistake was going after Malfoy for the Remembrall. She was fortunate that flying came so easily to her, and she wasted that luck on her second mistake: agreeing to this stupid duel.

What was she thinking? She'd never been in a fight before! In fact, she'd spent most of her life avoiding fights with her cousin, and she saw what happened to other kids who didn't get away. Mary thought about telling Ron that it was a mistake and going back to bed. It wasn't worth it. How much worse could Malfoy be if she backed down?

Ten times worse, Mary thought.

He would know that she's afraid, and just like Dudley, he'd try to push her around even more. He'd probably be worse to Neville, and torment anyone who'd shown Mary any measure of kindness. She couldn't let that happen.

At half-past eleven, Mary pulled a soft, hooded robe over her pajamas, crept down the spiral staircase, and met Ron in the common room. The glowing embers of the fireplace gave them ample light to safely make their way to the portrait hole. Before they made their escape, a voice from a nearby armchair said, "I can't believe you're doing this, Mary."

"What the–" Ron shrieked as Mary drew her wand and said, "Lumos!"

The tip of Mary's wand cast a white glow over the chair and revealed Hermione in her pink dressing gown. She shielded her eyes and ignited a lantern, illuminating Ron's maroon bathrobe and Mary's deep purple.

"You!" Ron hissed. "Go back to bed!"

"I almost told your brother," said Hermione, following behind them. "He could put a stop to this."

"Then go tell him, now, and leave us alone," said Mary, stepping through the portrait hole.

"Don't you care about Gryffindor?" Hermione asked. "You only care about yourselves, don't you? You're going to lose all the points I earned for knowing the Switching Spells, but when you're on a train home, tomorrow–"

Ron slammed the portrait in her face. He and Mary darted as quietly as possible to the nearest hiding place, and settled behind an oversized vase. Neither moved or spoke for several minutes, until a clock somewhere in the castle chimed for forty-five past the hour.

Ron blew a sigh of relief and Mary relaxed. The halls were alive with sound. Familiars prowled the corridors, the voices of Academy students drifted up from the lower levels, and Mary was sure she heard a large explosion from one of the rooms they passed, though it sounded far away. No vaulted window betrayed any secrets held within those midnight lessons, nor did the moonlit halls betray two first-years sprinting up a staircase to the third floor. They stopped and listened at the landing, then tiptoed to the trophy room, which was, to their immense relief, unlocked.

Inside the room, Mary could appreciate the ribbons, chalices, and shields encased in crystal cabinets. Moonlight displayed years of camaraderie and teamwork, including…

"That's my dad's name," said Mary, fingers resting on the glass between her and the adorned plaque. He must've stood here, at some point, with his team, admiring what they had accomplished together.

Mary couldn't duel here. Even if she couldn't muster a single offensive spell, any sort of fighting would be catastrophic.

"Ron," said Mary, "we should go."

"Yeah," said Ron, looking at another Quidditch award. "I think he set us up."

They waited for a clock to finish chiming for midnight, and listened at the door for footsteps. They heard one set of human feet, slow and staggered. That didn't sound like Malfoy, nor did the voice that crooned, "Have you found something, my dear?"

A purring trill confirmed the worst news: Mrs Norris was leading Filch right to them.

No, no, no, no… Mary looked for an escape, but the only way out was a small door at the top of the vaulted window owls used at all hours. Just then, a streak of white swept over Mary's head and into the hallway. Mrs Norris hissed and Hedwig barked.

Mary didn't know that owls could bark.

"What are you doing?" Filch groused. "What have you got there? Huh? No, don't let go of those in here!"

Mary could hear furious squeaking as Hedwig dropped a mouse from her beak and released another from her talons. Mrs Norris ran after the mice as they scampered in the direction of Gryffindor tower, Hedwig giving a noisy chase for Filch to follow.

"NO! You're dropping feathers all over the place!"

When the coast was clear, Mary and Ron ran in the opposite direction, towards the Charms corridor. They paused to catch their breath and ducked behind a suit of armor to avoid whatever clattering sound was coming towards them. Moonlight shone through Peeves as he dropped glistening spoons, forks, and butterknives onto the stone floor. Mary nearly fell into Ron when small figures darted out from nowhere, collecting the discarded silverware and vanishing. Unfortunately, that little movement was enough to catch Peeves' attention.

"What is this?" he purred, dropping the rest of his load and settling down next to the suit of armor. "Ickle firsties out of bed?"

"No, Peeves!" Mary pleaded. "Ignore us!"

"Ickle firsties smooching behind suits of armor," Peeves sang. "Young love! So pure! So romantic! So naughty of first-years sneaking out of bed!"

"Shut up, Peeves!" Ron begged. "You'll get us expelled!"

The poltergeist carried on with a singsong limerick about first-years getting expelled, so they ran for their lives. Peeves followed them down the corridor and stopped only when they slammed into a closed door.

"Aww…that sounded like it hurt!" Peeves cooed. "Why don't I go get Mr Filch and see if he can give it a kiss to make them feel better?"

"Peeves, please!"

Mary's hand found the doorknob, which thankfully turned. She grabbed Ron and pulled him through the door, locking it behind them.

"He can pass through doors, you know."

Mary shushed him and heard Filch wheezing his way up to Peeves.

"First-years," he panted. "Where are they?"

"Say 'please'," said Peeves.

"Peeves, I am not in the mood. Tell me where they are!"

"Shan't say nothing if you don't say please!" Peeves primly insisted.

"Fine! Please! Please tell me where they went!"

"NOTHING!" Peeves crowed, repeating the two syllables as he drifted back down the corridor.

"Shan't say nothing," Filch grumbled. "I'm going to bed."

When Mary could no longer hear his staggering footsteps, she said, "I think we're safe."

"We are not safe," said Ron, in a stiff monotone.

"What?"

Mary looked up at Ron, whose face shone ghostly pale in the moonlight. A large shadow passed over them, which Mary followed to its source. An enormous canine head shook, waking two others that yawned and nipped at the first. Mary slammed her back into the door and fumbled for the lock.

This wasn't a room. They were in a corridor. On the third floor. The forbidden corridor on the third floor, off-limits to all who don't want to die a very painful death. Mary saw that death had four large paws, and three heads that could easily brush the ceiling if the dog stood on its hind legs. Their noses got to work and all three throats emitted a low growl.

Mary's hand found the lock and they started snarling and snapping. Fortunately, the three-headed beast had no sense of coordination, so Ron had time to pick Mary up, slip around the door, and slam it shut before they could be mauled to pieces. Mary scrambled out of his grip and neither stopped running until they got back to Gryffindor Tower.

The Fat Lady appeared to have just returned from an outing when they stumbled up to her, panting and sweating.

"Where the devil have you two been?" she asked.

"Never mind that," Mary gasped. "Pig snout. Pig snout!"

The portrait swung open and they scrambled inside, collapsing onto the couch opposite the fireplace. Hermione was still up, sitting in her chair, and they heard someone else close the portrait hole behind them. All three held their breath until Neville timidly joined them by the fire.

After a moment of silence, Mary asked, "How's your wrist?" and cringed at the quaver in her voice.

Neville made a fist and rotated it. "It's all right, now. Do you know how many bones are in there? It took Madam Pomfrey hours to separate the fragments and set them, but I don't think you want to hear about all that. Where did you go? The Fat Lady was gone when I got back from the hospital wing. I thought someone had come down to let me in, but then you guys ran away."

Ron slapped a hand over his face. "Sorry, Neville."

"They were out dueling with Malfoy and Crabbe," Hermione helpfully supplied. "Getting detention wasn't enough for Mary – she had to risk losing Gryffindor's chance at winning the House cup."

"Some things are more important than stupid awards, Hermione!" Mary spat.

"Malfoy and Crabbe weren't even there!" Ron said, simultaneously.

Hermione smirked. "So he set you up, and you fell for it."

"Don't pretend you knew better," Mary snarled.

"I did know better! I knew to stay here after hours! Do you have any idea how dangerous Hogwarts can be at night?"

"Yes!" Ron hissed, jumping to his feet. "We have a bloody good idea!"

"Have you ever heard of a Cerberus, Hermione?" Mary asked. "Hogwarts has one, and it's living in the off-limits corridor on the third floor!"

Neville's hands covered his mouth. Hermione's eyebrows rose, but she maintained her unimpressed composure.

"I hope you're pleased with yourselves," she said, standing up. "You could have been killed, or worse – expelled! Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed."

Ron stared after her, mouth agape. "She needs to get her priorities straight."

"You'd think we dragged her along," said Mary.

They both looked at Neville, who was speechless. He closed his eyes, took a steadying breath, and then asked, "You're both all right, then?"

Mary took a moment to assess herself and said, "Yeah, I think so."

Ron also nodded.

"What do you think they're doing, keeping a creature like that locked up in a school?" Neville asked.

"Good question," said Ron.

Mary shook her head, trying to remember something. "Hagrid once told me that Gringotts is the best place in the world to keep something safe – except for maybe Hogwarts. He withdrew something while I was there, on my birthday."

"And later that day, someone tried to steal from Gringotts," said Ron.

Neville gasped. "You think whatever they were trying to steal is in Hogwarts, now!"

A small clock on the hearth chimed for one in the morning and they all jumped.

Ron waved his hands over his head. "Yes, we're very smart, figuring out something that the Ministry is already keeping track of."

"Hey, I was kinda proud of us!" Mary protested.

"The attempted-burglary was in the Daily Prophet," Ron countered

"You suck," said Mary, throwing pillow at Ron's head.

Neville laughed and told them to go to bed. "Tomorrow is going to suck!"