"Where exactly did we run to?" Fogg asked, bent double and frantically gasping for air.
"Fourth floor, right next to the Charms classroom," Allen replied calmly, though he appeared equally breathless. Thanks to his Mage Body Hardening, his exhaustion was largely performative; his physical state was miles ahead of his peers, and he still had the potent Disillusionment Charm on his robes as a backup.
"I think we finally shook him off," Harry said, leaning against the cold stone wall, wiping sweat from his forehead.
"Malfoy lied to you!" Hermione declared, her voice still trembling with adrenaline but edged with righteous anger. "See? Mr. Harris warned you! Although I still can't figure out why he agreed to mess about with you! Malfoy never intended to meet you there! Filch knew someone was going to the trophy room, and Malfoy must have been the one to tip him off."
Ron grudgingly conceded that Hermione was right, but he stubbornly refused to verbally agree with the 'Know-it-all.'
"I'm going to teach that greasy little bastard Malfoy a serious lesson tomorrow," Fogg spat out, his face still flushed. Draco Malfoy's underhanded methods were far more despicable than even the brute force of Dudley Dursley.
"Lookee here! A few little freshmen wandering about in the dead of night! Tsk, tsk, tsk, naughty, naughty, you're going to be busted!" A high-pitched, gleeful shout sliced through the tense silence.
The figure materialized—a clown-like being with a wide, grinning face, large eyes, dressed in brightly colored clothes, a ridiculous tie, a hat, and cracked, long slippers that exposed his toes. This was Peeves the Poltergeist, the embodiment of mischief and malice at Hogwarts. His very appearance reflected his nature, perfectly blending humor with genuine spite.
Poltergeists rarely take physical form, but Hogwarts was the exception. Existing since the school's foundation, Peeves had always been a thorn in the side of students and staff, especially the caretaker, Argus Filch. The only ones who could truly control him were the Bloody Baron and Albus Dumbledore.
"Hurry up, don't waste time begging," Allen snapped, grabbing the frantic Hermione and pulling her forward.
"The students aren't sleeping!" Peeves shouted gleefully as the young wizards fled, immediately alerting Filch, the caretaker he normally despised. "The students are up! They're in the Charms corridor!"
The young wizards heard Filch's enraged footsteps approaching fast. They abandoned all pretense of stealth and scrambled forward desperately, reaching the end of the corridor.
"The door… it's locked!" Ron whimpered in despair as Fogg threw his entire weight against the solid wooden door, hoping to break it open.
"Get out of my way!" Hermione, exhibiting surprisingly aggressive wandwork courtesy of her Dragon Heartstring core, cleanly swatted Allen's hand away just as he prepared to cast an Unlocking Charm. She then shouted at Fogg to move. This unexpected maneuver caused Allen to stumble slightly.
The Clever Lady raised her wand, tapped the lock, and whispered, "Alohomora!"
With a decisive click, the door swung open. The young wizards rushed inside, slammed the heavy door shut, and pressed their ears against the wood, listening intently to the commotion outside. They didn't notice that Allen's attention was no longer focused on Filch.
True to his mischievous nature, Peeves immediately abandoned his report to Filch. Confronted by the caretaker, Peeves ignored the man's demands, forgot the fleeing students, and used his advantage to shove a nearby suit of armor, flying at the 'Old Squirrel's' head and pelting him with spiders he'd collected from who-knows-where. Filch was so enraged he stamped his feet, finally giving up and running away, cursing and dragging his whimpering cat behind him. An even more agitated Peeves chased after him, launching all sorts of refuse.
"We should be safe now," Harry breathed a sigh of relief, sliding down the door to sit on the floor.
"No… we're not…" Fogg turned his head, his teeth chattering uncontrollably. His whole body was shaking as he instinctively reached for Allen's arm.
"Hey!" Hermione let out a soft, strangled cry—a sound of pure terror, as extreme fright often prevents a person from making a loud noise.
Standing before them was Fluffy, the three-headed dog, a creature that filled the entire space from wall to wall and floor to ceiling.
This gigantic hell-hound, a creature whose weak bloodline nonetheless radiated a palpable sense of primal fear and faint sulfur, had three massive heads, three pairs of menacing, darting eyes, three twitching noses that sniffed the air, and three drooling mouths from which sticky saliva dripped onto its yellowed teeth.
It stood motionless for a moment, all six eyes locked onto the five intruders.
Such beasts were commonly used by powerful sorcerers to guard important items. Allen knew that loud music was the only way to lull this ferocious Cerberus into a deep sleep. Beneath the beast, a trapdoor clearly led to the Philosopher's Stone, but Allen believed this entire setup was merely a deliberate test orchestrated by Dumbledore for Harry. Otherwise, Dumbledore could have simply destroyed the Stone immediately by speaking with its rightful owner, Nicolas Flamel, without bothering with this elaborate defense. In the original timeline, the Stone was destroyed shortly after Voldemort's defeat and before Harry fully regained consciousness, suggesting the decision had been pre-arranged.
Allen had no intention of derailing Dumbledore's plans. He lacked the power to challenge the Headmaster yet, and more importantly, he didn't need to. Though he had stumbled into the main plot with Harry—a friend he hadn't seen much of lately—there were now more participants than the original three. Furthermore, Allen knew that completely isolating himself from Harry would be too conspicuous, especially since Dumbledore was already aware of their bond from the Muggle world. He felt it was strategically safer to participate tangentially in this manner; being too deliberate in avoiding the plot would only raise suspicion that he had something to hide.
"My father really managed to get himself into trouble," Allen muttered, shaking his head slightly, suppressing an internal groan.
Hermione, recovering from her shock, reached up, frantically grabbed the doorknob, twisted it with a sharp click, and wrenched the door open. The group scrambled out. Fortunately, the Cerberus was chained and could only let loose a chorus of ferocious howls as they fled.
Harry and his friends ran as fast as their legs could carry them, stopping only when they reached the Fat Lady portrait on the seventh floor.
"Where is Allen? Did anyone see Allen?" Harry suddenly asked, pulling up just inside the Gryffindor common room. The group looked at each other, realizing they had no idea when Allen had vanished.
"Don't worry about him," Fogg said, catching Harry before he could turn back. "I'm sure he went invisible once we hit the fourth floor. With his abilities, there's no way he got caught."
Having cast the Disillusionment Charm and discreetly left the group moments before they reached the portrait, Allen knew they were safe now. After seeing the magnificent Cerberus, he felt a strange, strong interest in magical creatures ignite within him. "After I clear the System's current quests, I really need to do some in-depth research on these peculiar beasts."
He made his way back to Ravenclaw Tower without incident. On his route, Allen spotted Filch, who had finally escaped Peeves's harassment and was now on patrol. "Blast it! We couldn't even catch Potter, despite a tip-off from that Slytherin whelp! And that damned Peeves! So much mess to clean! So much armor to repair! Come on, Mrs. Norris, let's go get some tools, and maybe I'll give you a quick wash while we're there…"
Watching the Old Squirrel's hunched back and the filthy cat, and knowing the man was in a magical castle yet was forced to use Muggle tools for cleaning, Allen felt a genuine pang of pity.
For someone who desperately yearned for magic but was born a Squib, this was a true tragedy; perhaps ignorance would have been bliss! Harry's Aunt Petunia also harbored deep jealousy toward Lily, knowing about magic but being unable to possess it. This powerful, frustrated desire must be the root of such human malice. Argus Filch's harsh treatment of young wizards stemmed entirely from this resentment, yet he never dared challenge the professors. Whenever he encountered one, he would cower and retreat; for instance, if Professor McGonagall called him an 'idiot,' he would simply cover his mouth and not dare utter another word.
Ironically, his name, Argus, meant 'doorkeeper' in Greek mythology, a hundred-eyed giant who could watch in all directions.
With a shake of his head, Allen returned to the now-empty trophy display room. He drew his wand.
"Reparo Maxima!"
His wand emitted a faint, warm light. The shattered armor instantly snapped back together, the broken spear was reassembled without a trace of damage, and the dried filth and debris collected by Peeves were gathered into a single, neat heap.
"Excellent work, my boy. Your magic is commendable, but your sense of responsibility is even more so."
An ancient, resonant voice came from directly behind Allen.
Allen jumped, startled by the sudden voice. He immediately activated his Occlumency, thinking rapidly: "I knew it. You wouldn't let Harry run around the castle like that unsupervised. You had everything under control, didn't you, Dumbledore?"
"Good evening, Headmaster Dumbledore," Allen greeted him casually, showing no shame at being caught red-handed.
"Good evening, my boy. Had I not learned of your mischief tonight from a portrait, I would never have seen you wearing those legendary wizard robes, so popular a thousand years ago." Dumbledore adjusted his half-moon spectacles, revealing the sharp, bright, and piercing azure eyes behind them.
"Yes, Professor, it truly is marvelous; it is my treasure," Allen said honestly, seeing no point in lying. Invisibility Cloaks weren't exceptionally rare in the wizarding world. One could purchase a cloak woven from the fur of a Demiguise, an invisibility beast, for a price. Unlike Harry's Deathly Hallow, however, Demiguise-fur cloaks lost their power over time. "Dumbledore seems to know the true origin of this specific robe," Allen observed mentally.
"I find your actions even more admirable," Professor Dumbledore continued, his voice softer now. "To help the weak, and then to quietly fix the damage without seeking praise, all without sacrificing your kindness and compassion—that is a rare trait indeed." The gifted, insightful, and wise Headmaster clearly understood Allen's motivation for quietly repairing the damage.