"Oh... is it too late to run?" Ron asked, his voice going numb as he watched Filch slowly stand up.
"Of course it's not! He hasn't seen our faces yet!" Harry was the fastest to react this ti. He grabbed Kane and a dazed Ron, dragging them away from this den of trouble.
The situation was crystal clear now: Malfoy had played them.
"Once I get away with a clean slate today, I'm going to—" Ron started to make a grand vow, but Harry cut him off instantly.
"Don't! Don't finish that sentence! Bad things happen when you set flags!"
"Fine."
The three kept their heads down and ran. Despite his age, Filch's legs didn't move like an old man's; he moved like a professional track athlete.
He chased them across three or four floors without breaking a sweat, his footsteps growing louder and closer.
"Kane, do sothing! He's going to catch us!" Harry hissed.
"We can't! Filch is a Squib—if we go too hard and accidentally kill him, what then?" Ron's head was surprisingly clear. Getting caught ant losing points or detention. Seriously injuring Filch ant getting sent ho.
Kane, however, had a different plan. He didn't need his specialized Shadow magic or high-tier summons. Quirrell had just taught them a basic spell—standard damage, common knowledge, and definitely not lethal.
"Flipendo!"
Kane whipped his wand back. A flash of blue light struck Filch with a massive force, knocking him off his feet. The caretaker tumbled across the floor, rolling a few tis before—thud—disappearing into a side room.
Just as the three began to exhale in relief, a low, unsettling growl erupted from the room—the sound of a massive beast's throat vibrating. They all flinched.
"This is the fourth-floor corridor... the room Filch just rolled into... isn't that the one Dumbledore ntioned at the start of term?" Ron swallowed hard.
A heartbeat later, all three of them charged into the room. As the terrifying sound grew louder, Kane was already imagining Filch being reduced to confetti.
Luckily, Filch had the luck of the devil (or perhaps the three-headed dog was just full). The beast was currently "playing" with Filch, licking him with three massive tongues. It was terrifying, but there were no serious wounds—just a lot of slobber.
Kane didn't hesitate. He summoned a Frog. Its long, sticky tongue lashed out, adhered to Filch's robes, and yanked him back to safety. It was a clean extraction; in the world of "code," the Frog's priority was apparently higher than the Cerberus'.
Now safe, Filch got a very clear look at the three boys' faces. But considering they had just saved him from becoming dog food...
"Just this once," Filch wheezed, wiping drool off his face. "Never again! Do you understand?"
The trio nodded frantically.
"Get back to your dorms. I'll give you one minute to vanish from my sight," Filch said, regaining his stern, frightening composure.
"Thank you, Mr. Filch," Kane said, turning to leave.
Harry couldn't help himself. "Mr. Filch, why were you waiting for us there in the first place?"
"Did you forget who you made a duel appointnt with? Now go. You have forty seconds."
They bolted, not stopping until they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady. Perhaps it was because Ron had set half a flag, but they didn't escape scot-free.
Professor McGonagall, wearing cat-patterned pajamas, was waiting in the common room. Her lips were pressed into a thin, hard line.
"Out for most of the night... ten points from each of you. I believe that is a fair punishnt."
"We have no objections," the three said in unison.
"Good. Go to bed. You should be grateful you have no morning classes tomorrow."
The next morning, the Gryffindors woke up to a "Point Deduction Lottery" totaling thirty points.
Hermione, sitting on a sofa, saw the notice. She assud the boys had been set up, but she was surprised they actually lost points.
With Kane's status, I figured he'd slap Filch, and Filch would apologize for being in the way. McGonagall really is impartial.
Lavender Brown sat down next to her. "Hey, Hermione, weren't you out late last night too? You ca back right before them. Do you know how they got caught?"
Hermione turned a page in her book. "I don't know. we just walked back to the castle together, went to the eighth floor, and then split up."
"I might know sothing about that," Seamus Finnigan cut in. Half the common room turned to look at him.
Seamus rubbed his nose. "I woke up last night to use the bathroom and rembered I'd left my wizard's chess set down here. When I ca down, Professor McGonagall was already sitting here, just... waiting. Like she knew they were coming."
Hermione frowned. So it wasn't a chance encounter. She was waiting for them.
A single thought rippled through the room: There's a traitor in Gryffindor.
Losing points was one thing—everyone in Gryffindor broke rules. But a backstabber? That was different. And the only person who knew exactly when they were coming back was...
Hermione looked at her classmates. None of them seed to be considering Malfoy as the culprit. Trying to get an eleven-year-old Gryffindor to use logic instead of "hot-blooded emotion" was harder than teaching a hyena to write with its tail.
As she was ntally dismissing them, she realized the room had gone quiet. Most of the eyes in the room were now fixed on her.
Hermione's mouth twitched. "...You... you don't actually think I sold them out, do you?"
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