Hermione dressed herself carefully for her first wizard's duel, though she wasn't expected to fight in it. She was torn between the practicality and mobility of Muggle clothes and the importance of appearance and the appropriate gravitas that robes provided. She eventually settled on wearing her robes over top of a black jumper and black denims. It was going to be dark, anyways; the others probably wouldn't notice her clothing at all.
Escaping the dungeons and creeping up through the castle to the seventh floor was an adventure all its own. Hermione took care to be as careful and as quiet as possible, trying to blend into the shadows, pretending she was a ninja. Though she had to narrowly avoid Filch, she managed to make it to her destination on time and uncaught.
She was amused to meet Harry and Ron outside their common room, both wearing their pajamas and bathrobes.
"Nice dueling outfits," she commented, raising an eyebrow. "Very intimidating. I'm sure Malfoy will be awed."
"Oh, shut it, Hermione," Ron grumbled, but Harry had the grace to look abashed.
As they quietly crept down the corridor, Harry froze, shoving them both back behind him.
"I heard something," he said, his eyes wide. He leaned forward, curious, only to spring back as Neville leapt up in front of them.
Hermione lingered in the back of the group, unable to refrain from rolling her eyes as the Gryffindors quickly talked in a hush. Neville had forgotten the password, apparently, and been locked out of his common room. She wondered if it had ever occurred to him to knock. Or find Professor McGonagall, for that matter.
Somehow, it was decided that Neville would accompany them, as he didn't want to be alone, and the Fat Lady of their portrait wasn't in her frame anymore. Hermione wondered what snide remark Draco would make about this new development.
They crept along the corridors, striped with bars of moonlight from the high windows. They sped up a staircase and tiptoed toward the trophy room.
Draco and Vincent weren't there yet. Hermione entertained herself by looking around at all the trophies. There were certainly a lot of them, for various different things, though most seemed very old. One of the more recent ones was an award for "Special Services to the School," which Hermione thought sounded almost like someone had maxed doing their hours of community service on Hogwarts. The most interesting trophy was for "Combat Potions," dated in 1394, and had a horrific figure half-melting on the top of the trophy instead of the usual victorious angel.
"He's late," Ron whispered. "Maybe he's chickened out."
Hermione looked around. There was no sign or sound of Draco.
A certain sense of dread began to close in on her. Draco wouldn't have chickened out – not if he intended the duel to be real…
"It's a trap," she hissed. "We have to get out—"
There was a noise in the next room that made them jump. Harry raised his wand when they heard someone speak – and it wasn't Malfoy.
"Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner."
It was Filch talking to Mrs. Norris.
Horror-struck, Harry waved madly at them to follow him as quickly as possible; they scurried silently toward the door, away from Filch's voice. They'd only just rounded the corner when they heard Filch enter the room from the other side.
"They're in here somewhere," they heard him mutter. "Probably hiding."
Harry gestured to them, and they began to creep down a long gallery full of suits of armor. They could hear Filch getting nearer. Neville suddenly let out a frightened squeak and broke into a run – he tripped, grabbed Ron about the waist, and the pair of them toppled right into a suit of armor.
The resulting clamor could have been heard from Hogsmeade.
"RUN!" Harry yelled, and the four of them sprinted off, Hermione simultaneously torn between yelling at the three of the boys for being so noisy and considering if she should ditch them and run in a different direction – knowing she'd be much quieter on her own.
It was the memory of Ron sneering at her in the library, saying that she'd betray them, that kept her reluctantly keeping pace with her friends.
They paused against a wall, struggling to catch their breath, Neville wheezing.
"I think we've lost him," Harry panted. Hermione scowled.
"Draco tricked you," she told him. "He tricked us. He was never going to duel at all. Filch knew someone was going to be in the trophy room – Draco must have tipped him off."
From the dark look on Harry's face, Hermione knew he had come to the same realization.
A moment later, Peeves was interfering and challenging Ron, and Hermione groaned. She stretched a little, preparing herself, and when Peeves began to yell, she took off right next to Harry, who led the way.
They slammed into a locked door at the end of the corridor, and Ron moaned as they pushed helplessly at the door.
"This is it! We're done for! This is the end!"
"Spare me your dramatics," Hermione snarled, shoving him aside. She whipped out her wand, tapping the lock. "Alohomora!"
The lock clicked and the door swung open. They piled through it and shut it quickly. The boys all pressed their ears to it, listening, while Hermione stared into the room.
There was a dog there.
A very, very large dog, quite possibly as tall as a bus.
With three heads.
The dog seemed surprised that they'd abruptly burst into its room, which gave them a moment of comparative safety, Hermione supposed. Then the dog shook its heads and snarled, drool leaving its massive mouths and dripping down to the ground.
Hermione's eye watched as one strand of drool landed on a metal ring on the floor, and her eyes widened.
That was a trap door.
The creature was guarding something.
The monstrous dog snarled again, and this time, Harry turned around with a "What?" and saw the monstrous dog, his face going white. As the dog growled, Harry groped for the doorknob while Ron whimpered, and they all fell back through the doorway as fast as they could.
Hermione was the last out, and she slammed the door behind her, before taking care to lock it once again. When she looked up, she was dismayed to see that the other three had left her, sprinting at full speed for the Gryffindor tower.
It was with an angry scowl that she stalked back down to the Slytherin common room, her black robes billowing behind her. She'd gone with them, saved them, and they had abandoned her? Hermione didn't intend to let Ron forget this, and she planned on guilt tripping him for it as long as possible.
Her ire gradually began to diminish as the time of night caught up to her, and her angry thoughts gradually subsided into a sort of sleepy curiosity.
What could that dog be guarding? It had to be something.
And why had she been able to open the door with Alohomora? Surely if it were anything important, they'd have used a proper magically-resistant lock, not one a first-year spell could get through.
Her eyes widened as a thought occurred to her.
Maybe someone was supposed to get through.
A tremor of excitement ran through her as she whispered the password to the wall, letting her into the common room.
As she changed and laid down in her bed, her mind was still racing. She wondered over it as she levitated a small pile of books, managing to hold it for nearly three minutes.
She'd already learned that things were done differently, here. The Forbidden Forest wasn't so forbidden if you had detention, for example, or if your Creatures class instructed you to go in there. Bullying was dealt with by students, not teachers. Maybe extra credit was gained through obstacle courses that involved dramatic and dangerous things?
The dog had been horrifying, but upon further consideration, not the worst thing. There could have been a dragon who could have immediately roasted her alive, Hermione reflected. It could have been a lot worse.
Besides. She was sure she had heard of a three-headed dog somewhere, before. She just couldn't remember where.
Hermione eventually drifted off, thoughts of dragons and dogs following her into her sleep.