Chapter 21: Of Puppies and Keys

Finally, we had made it to the door. The wooden surface was cracked and worn, slightly ajar, as though it had been hurriedly pushed open. My heart thudded heavily, each beat echoing in my ears.

"Well, there you are," Harry whispered, his voice tight with tension. "Snape's already got past Fluffy."

Seeing the door open sent a wave of dread crashing over me. Everything suddenly felt very real. We weren't just sneaking through Hogwarts anymore—we were on the brink of something truly dangerous. Spells, enchantments, and who knows what else, all far beyond anything we'd learned in first year. My stomach churned. What if we didn't make it out alive?

"If you want to go back, I won't blame you," Harry said. His green eyes were resolute. "You can take the cloak. I won't need it now."

"Don't be stupid," Ron said, giving him a slight nudge on the arm.

"We're coming," I said firmly, even though my legs felt like jelly. Friends don't let each other face the unknown alone, no matter how terrifying it is.

Harry gave a small, grateful smile and pushed the door open. It creaked loudly, sending shivers racing down my spine.

A low, menacing growl immediately filled the room. Fluffy. All three of the enormous dog's heads turned towards us, noses twitching as it sniffed the air. Its breath was foul and hot, hanging in the room like a heavy cloud. At least the Invisibility Cloak was working—it couldn't see us.

"What's that at its feet?" I whispered, pointing to something glinting on the ground.

"Looks like a harp," Ron murmured, squinting. "Snape must've left it there."

"It must wake up the moment you stop playing," Harry said grimly. "Well, here goes..."

He pulled out the flute Hagrid had given him for Christmas. The sound that came out was shrill and uneven, but it worked. Fluffy's growls softened, and the creature's heads began to droop, one by one.

"Keep playing," Ron encouraged as he carefully slipped out from under the cloak. My nerves were taut as piano wires as we crept forward. Every step closer to Fluffy felt like a lifetime. Its immense chest rose and fell with each deep breath, the sound of its snoring vibrating the air.

I caught sight of its teeth—sharp as daggers—and felt a fresh jolt of fear. If this didn't work…

"I think we'll be able to pull the door open," Ron whispered. He glanced at me. "Want to go first, Hermione?"

"No, I don't!" I hissed back. Was he mad?

"All right," Ron muttered, his lips tight with nervous energy. He stepped gingerly over one of Fluffy's enormous paws, every movement slow and deliberate. I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. Finally, he reached the trapdoor and pulled it open.

"What can you see?" I asked, trying to peer past him.

"Nothing, just black," he said, leaning over the edge. "Looks like there's no way of climbing down. We'll just have to drop."

Harry paused his flute playing for a moment to indicate he'd go first.

"You want to go first? Are you sure?" Ron asked, his voice tinged with doubt. "I don't know how deep this thing is. Give the flute to Hermione so she can keep him asleep.

Harry passed me the flute quickly, and I began to play. Fur Elise came to mind. Something soothing and familiar to keep my hands from shaking.

Harry climbed over the edge of the hole, gripping the sides of the trapdoor. He hung there for a moment, the tips of his fingers white.

"If anything happens to me, don't follow," he said, his voice steady. "Go straight to the owlery and send Hedwig to Dumbledore, right?"

"Right," Ron said, though he looked like he was trying to swallow a lump in his throat.

"See you in a minute… I hope," Harry said, before letting go.

I held my breath, my fingers shaking on the flute as I continued to play.

"He made it," Ron said after a moment. "He says the landing's soft. As soon as you see me jump, you come right behind me and shut the door, do you understand?"

I nodded and kept playing, though panic gnawed at my insides. I watched Ron lower himself into the hole, then jump.

Now it was my turn. Alone. I stopped playing, and Fluffy's middle head snapped awake, its massive eyes gleaming. A low growl started in its throat.

I didn't think—I jumped.

The fall seemed endless, the rush of air tearing at my clothes and hair. Then, with a soft thud, I landed on something squishy.

"We must be miles under the school," I said, looking around. The air was damp and heavy, and the faint scent of earth surrounded us.

"Lucky this plant thing's here, really," Ron said, dusting himself off.

I stared at him, horrified as realization set in on what this was. "Lucky?! Look at you both!"

The boys were wriggling, the strange plant beginning to tighten around them like snakes. Devil's Snare. Its tendrils were already creeping towards me, but I stood still, remembering what Professor Sprout had taught us.

"Stop moving!" I shouted at them. "It's Devil's Snare! If you relax, it'll let you go!"

"Oh, I'm so glad we know what it's called. That's a great help," Ron snapped, still struggling.

"Shut up, I'm trying to remember how to kill it!" I said, trying to remember the little poem that Professor Sprout had taught us

"Devil's Snare, Devil's Snare… It likes the dark and the damp," I muttered.

"So light a fire!" Harry choked out.

"Yes! Of course! But there's no wood!" I cried in a panic. No wood, no matches, no stones. I couldn't do anything I had learned in the two years I took of Girl Scouts. They were gonna be done for, and it was gonna be my-

"HAVE YOU GONE MAD?" Ron bellowed. "ARE YOU A WITCH OR NOT?"

His words jolted me back to my senses.

"Lacarnum Inflamarae!" I shouted, flicking my wand. My bluebell flames sprang to life, their warm glow filling the space. The Devil's Snare recoiled immediately, slithering away from the boys.

They scrambled to their feet, breathing hard.

"Lucky you pay attention in Herbology," Harry said, giving me a small smile.

"Yeah," Ron added, clapping me on the back. "And lucky Harry doesn't lose his head in a crisis—'there's no wood,' honestly."

I couldn't help but smile back. At least we were still alive.

"This way," Harry said, pointing to a dark corridor ahead. I glanced back at the Devil's Snare, its tendrils curling in retreat, and shuddered.

No plants like that for Dad's garden, thank you very much.

The stone passage stretched ahead, cold and foreboding. Water dripped from the ceiling, echoing faintly, and the air smelled of mildew and damp stone. Every step we took seemed to amplify the oppressive silence around us. The further we walked, the heavier my chest felt. I clung to the back of Ron's robe as he held Harry's, determined not to lose my footing on the uneven stones. Suddenly, a faint sound reached my ears, sending a shiver up my spine.

"Can you hear something?" Ron uttered.

"Do you think it's a ghost?" I asked, the sound getting a little louder.

"I don't know," Ron said as we got closer. "Sounds like wings to me."

"There's light ahead. " said Harry. "I can see something moving."

We reached the end of the passageway and entered a small open chamber. From where we were standing, it looked like jeweled fairieswere fluttering around slowly over our heads. A huge wooden door was on the far wall.

"Do you think they'll attack us if we cross the room?" Ron asked.

"Probably," said Harry. "They don't look very vicious, but I suppose if they all swooped down at once... Well, there's no other choice... I'll run."

He took a deep breath, covered his face with his arms, and ran across the room. Nothing happened. He touched the door. Nothing happened. He tried to pull it open, but it was locked.

We ran over and tried to help him open it.

"Alohomora," I said, pointing my wand at the lock. Nothing.

"Now what?" Ron said, frustrated.

"These birds... they can't be here just for decoration," I said, looking back at the fairies. Fairies...with odd legs...

One of the fairies caught a bit of light. Suddenly, I realized that they weren't fairies at all. They were-

"They're not birds!" Harry said suddenly, realizing it too. "They're keys! Winged keys, look carefully. So that must mean... yes - look! Broomsticks! We've got to catch the key to the door!"

I froze. Flying. Of course, it had to be flying. My stomach twisted uncomfortably as I turned and saw the three broomsticks leaning against the wall. The sight of them alone made my palms sweat and my chest tighten.

"But there are hundreds of them," I said, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. My voice sounded higher than I wanted it to. "And I'm rubbish at brooms."

"We're looking for a big, old-fashioned one," Ron said, examining the lock. "Probably silver, like the handle."

"That one!" Harry shouted, pointing toward the ceiling. "The big one there! Shit—no, there! With bright blue wings, the feathers are all crumpled on one side."

Ron grabbed a broomstick and swung his leg over it effortlessly, his expression set with determination. "Right, let's catch it, then."

I stared at the broomstick left for me, my hands trembling as I tried to will myself to move. The memory of our first flying lesson came rushing back—the broom wobbling uncontrollably beneath me, the sheer terror of being so high up, the humiliation of feeling like I didn't belong. My breath hitched, and I couldn't stop my fingers from shaking as I reached for the handle.

"Come on, Hermione," Ron encouraged, his grin equal parts teasing and reassuring.

"Right," I mumbled, though I didn't believe it for a second.

With a shaky breath, I swung my leg over the broom and pushed off the ground. It wobbled immediately, jerking side to side as I gripped the handle for dear life. My heart raced, and I bit down hard on my lip to keep from crying out. I hated this—I hated every second of this.

As soon as we were airborne, the keys seemed to sense us. They scattered in a chaotic blur of wings, their erratic movements making the task ahead seem impossible.

"There it is!" Harry yelled, pointing again at the blue-winged key.

Ron sped after it, his broom slicing through the air with impressive ease—until he misjudged his angle and slammed into the ceiling with a loud thud. I winced, my broom wobbling dangerously as I tried to steady myself.

"We've got to close in on it!" Harry shouted, his voice carrying over the sound of fluttering wings. "Ron, you come at it from above. Hermione, stay below and stop it from going down. I'll try and catch it. Now!"

I nodded, though my hands felt glued to the broomstick and my heart was hammering so loudly it drowned out my thoughts. Forcing myself to move, I maneuvered below the key, the broom shaking beneath me with every slight shift of weight. The air felt colder up here, and I couldn't stop imagining what would happen if I fell.

Harry darted toward the key, his movements sharp and precise. With a final lunge, he pinned it against the wall, clutching it tightly as its bright blue wings fluttered desperately.

I descended as quickly as I could, my legs shaking as I touched the ground. Relief flooded me as I threw the broom aside, silently vowing never to touch one again unless my life depended on it—and even then, I'd consider the alternative.

Harry ran to the door, the key flapping furiously in his grasp. He shoved it into the lock, twisting it with a loud click. The door creaked open, and the key wriggled free, flying back to rejoin the others.

"Ready?" Harry asked, glancing back at us.

I nodded, my legs still trembling slightly. "Ready."

We nodded, bodies trembling as well, and with that, Harry pushed the door open.