Harry was about to call everyone to leave when he turned and froze at the sight before him.
Ron, reckless as ever, had tried to join Loren and Hermione in stroking the three-headed dog. Harry grabbed him at the last second, holding him back.
"Loren, Hermione, Filch is gone. We should leave now."
Harry swallowed, his voice unsteady.
Loren had already finished running his hands over the beast, probing it with magic. Aside from its size, the extra heads, and some innate magic, it was little more than a dog. At Harry's call, he stepped back, brushing off his hands. Hermione reluctantly let go too, following his lead.
Once through the door, Loren and Hermione brought up the rear while Harry led them at a sprint toward the eighth floor. Best to get back before Filch could circle round again.
They finally skidded to a halt in front of the Fat Lady's portrait. The guardian was half-asleep, startled by the sudden noise.
"Who's there?" she asked sharply, peering at the empty corridor.
"Never mind that—'Pig snout, pig snout,'" Harry muttered, pulling off the cloak.
Recognizing Gryffindors, the Fat Lady swung open without protest. She'd seen too many late-night wanderers to care.
Harry and Ron collapsed into armchairs, shaking. Loren and Hermione came in behind them, calm and steady.
"What are they thinking? Locking a monster like that in a school!" Ron gasped once his breath returned.
"I knew it, Loren. You're incredible. Without you, we'd be dead. How did you manage that?"
Loren sidestepped. "That dog's guarding something. I saw a trapdoor under it."
Harry's head snapped up, but before he could speak, Hermione cut him off.
"It's late. Go to bed. We've got Potions tomorrow."
The very mention of Potions shut Harry and Ron up. They bolted for the dorm, dreading Snape's class more than the dog.
Loren and Hermione washed up before heading to their own dorms. Ron was already snoring, while Harry twisted restlessly in bed, clearly thinking about what Loren had said.
Behind the velvet curtains, Loren pulled up his system panel.
"Yes."
"Ding. World gift activated."
"Ding! Detected projection type: biological. No items present. Host may choose a skill or trait from projected creatures."
1. **Cerberus**
* Hell's Eye: See invisible souls. (Eyes see what mortals cannot.)
* Multihead Strike: Three heads strike multiple targets at once. (Three mouths, three bites.)
2. **Centaur**
* Astrology: Natural talent in star-reading. Each centaur interprets differently.
* Polearm Mastery: Height advantage makes them natural with long weapons.
3. **Unicorn**
* Blessing of Light: Blood carries holy magic; drinking it curses the thief.
* Blindness Curse: Attacks may inflict temporary blindness.
4. **Phoenix**
* Fire Magic Mastery: Innate skill with most fire spells.
* Flame Absorption: Feed on fire to restore stamina.
All familiar Hogwarts creatures.
"System, if I pick Multihead Strike, do I grow extra heads?"
"Ding. No physical alteration. Ability adapts to host."
Relief. Of the lot, only Multihead Strike and Astrology appealed. Astrology, though… every centaur read the stars differently, unreliable at best.
"System, I choose Multihead Strike."
"Ding. Host selected Multihead Strike. Adjusting…"
"Ding. Skill acquired: Attack Range Increase (Basic). Attacks extend slightly beyond reach."
A shiver ran through him, like static under the skin. It was done.
He tested on his pillow: his hand stopped ten centimeters away, yet the fabric dented as if struck. Promising. He'd need to test spells later. For now, it was past one. Sleep first.
…
Friday morning.
Neville had been awake early, standing silently at Loren's bedside. Without ill intent or noise, he hadn't disturbed Loren's sleep. When Loren finally stirred, he nearly lashed out in reflex.
"Merlin—Neville? What are you doing here?"
Neville's voice cracked. "Why didn't you take me last night? I slept straight through."
Loren paused, then lied smoothly. "That pillow. It's alchemical. Once you're out, you won't wake unless there's danger. I forgot to warn you."
Neville's hurt expression eased, though doubt lingered in his eyes.
"Go wash up. I'll explain everything after morning practice."
…
At seven, breakfast. Loren, Harry, and Hermione sat down, Neville still muttering curses at Draco between bites of toast. Loren had already told him the whole story during training, and Neville's outrage hadn't cooled.
Across the hall, Draco stared, stunned. He had woken early to hear news of punishments—maybe even expulsions. But the Gryffindors were here, unscathed. Had his plan failed?
Loren noticed. With a quiet signal, he sent Hermione and Neville back to their plates. Then he flicked a spell at Draco and left the hall.
Minutes later, Draco stumbled into the antechamber, glassy-eyed under Loren's compulsion.
"Why didn't you come? Do you scorn the sacred duel?"
Draco sneered. "Dueling's rubbish. I only wanted you punished. Who cares about traditions? You got lucky, that's all."
"This was a duel between two Sacred Twenty-Eight houses. Malfoy challenged the heir of Potter. Does your family break its own codes?"
"Potter? That family's nothing. Malfoys decide what's law. Half-bloods and Mudbloods belong underfoot."
"And why? What's your purpose?"
"To crush you filthy bloodlines. You, the Gryffindors, even those Hufflepuff vermin. They dared to slight the Malfoys. They'll be next."
Loren shut off the recorder in his hand—a discreet magical camera of his own design. He'd make sure the *Daily Prophet* saw this someday. With a twist of his spell, he rewrote the compulsion, then released Draco to stumble off.
He rejoined the others at breakfast, calm as ever.
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