HP: DnD Chapter 33

Chapter 33: Midnight Adventures 

[Midnight — Hogwarts]

Wrapped tightly in a thick shawl, Argus Filch moved through the silent, shadowy corridors of Hogwarts Castle. In one hand, he held a candle holder, its dim light flickering across the stone walls. His other hand clutched the edge of his shawl as he glanced around nervously. His usual bitter scowl was gone, replaced by something rare for the caretaker—worry.

For over 25 years, Filch had patrolled these halls, searching for rule-breaking students and ensuring they were punished. It was a thankless task, but Filch took grim satisfaction in it. His punishments were meant to set examples, scaring others into obedience. And he was good at his job—perhaps too good, as most students considered him more a menace than a guardian. Worse still, Filch seemed to enjoy it. His pleasure in catching troublemakers was clear, and it earned him little love among the students of Hogwarts.

“Mrs. Norris?” he called into the darkness, his voice trembling slightly.

But tonight, Filch wasn’t hunting for disobedient students. Tonight, his focus was elsewhere—on his beloved cat, Mrs. Norris. For years, she had been his constant companion, patrolling the halls by his side, her sharp senses often alerting him to the presence of sneaky students. But now, for the first time in memory, she was gone.

“Where are you, Mrs. Norris?” he muttered again, his voice echoing faintly in the empty corridor.

Filch couldn’t shake his unease. Mrs. Norris never disappeared without a trace. Whenever she needed to wander off, she always made it clear. She had a routine—a small ritual—where she would rub her head against his leg, circle him a few times, and then walk away. Even during mating season, she followed this pattern without fail.

But tonight, she had vanished without warning. Filch had searched high and low for her since evening, yet there was no sign of her anywhere. For the first time in years, he didn’t care about students sneaking out of bed or breaking the rules. All that mattered now was finding Mrs. Norris.

Clutching the cold metal handle of the candleholder, Filch moved deeper into the castle. The dim light barely pushed back the darkness, casting eerie, dancing shadows on the walls. He rarely felt fear in these halls, despite their many secrets. Most people dismissed him as bitter and cruel, but there was more to Argus Filch than met the eye.

Filch was a Squib—born into a magical family but lacking any magical abilities. Unlike Muggle-borns, who miraculously developed magical powers despite their non-magical lineage, Squibs were the opposite: a painful reminder that even in magical families, magic wasn’t guaranteed.

This had shaped Filch’s life. As a child, he had been mocked and ridiculed for his lack of magic, even by those who should have known better. Some of the very professors now teaching at Hogwarts had been part of the crowd that teased him when they were students. Over the years, guilt had weighed heavily on them, but by the time they understood the harm they’d caused, it was too late. Filch had become bitter, angry, and hardened. Apologies, even if they were offered, meant nothing to him now.

He had carved out a life for himself at Hogwarts, finding purpose in his work and companionship in Mrs. Norris. The cat was more than a pet to him—she was his only true friend. She understood him in a way no human ever had.

And now, she was gone.

“Mrs. Norris, where are you?” he called out again, louder this time.

Still no response.

As he turned a corner, a faint flicker of white light caught his eye. He froze, narrowing his eyes to focus on the distant glow. It was coming from one of the castle’s most isolated areas, a place few ever visited, especially at this hour.

His heart quickened. No professor had any reason to be there this late, and students knew better than to wander into such a secluded part of the castle. His mind raced with possibilities. Could it be Mrs. Norris? Or perhaps a student sneaking around where they didn’t belong? The thought gave him a brief surge of hope mixed with frustration.

Tightening his grip on the candleholder, Filch hurried toward the source of the light. His heavy footsteps echoed in the silence, but he paid no mind. As he drew closer, his excitement grew. Perhaps he would find Mrs. Norris and catch a troublesome student all at once.

But as he reached the corner, his heart sank.

“M-Mrs. N-Norris?” His voice cracked, barely a whisper, as his eyes widened in horror.

There she was—his beloved Mrs. Norris—frozen stiff, her body cold and unmoving. She stood unnaturally still, her eyes wide and glassy, as though carved from stone.

Standing beside her, looking pale and nervous, was none other than Harry Potter.

“Potter,” Filch hissed, his face twisting with fury. His trembling hand shot out to point accusingly at the boy.

“How dare you cast a petrification spell on Mrs. Norris!” he bellowed, his voice booming through the corridor.

Harry flinched, his wand dangling uselessly at his side, his face a mix of fear and confusion.

Filch, however, saw nothing but the petrified form of Mrs. Norris. The one creature he trusted, the one source of warmth in his lonely world, lay petrified before him. His grip on the candle holder tightened as rage boiled within him.

The students had always hated him, but now, for the first time, Filch hated one of them back—with every fiber of his being.

…

…

[Some Time Earlier — Hogwarts]

“Remind me to always get every little detail before agreeing to something, Ron,” Damien said, his eyebrows twitching with unease. “I should’ve guessed something was off when you said there weren’t any human guards.”

Standing before him was a massive three-headed dog—a Cerberus, just like the ones from ancient Greek myths.

“Don’t be such a wuss, Damien,” Ron said with a reassuring grin. “Fluffy doesn’t hurt anyone, right Fluffy?”

As if on cue, all three of Fluffy’s heads turned toward Damien, each mouth wide open, saliva dripping onto the stone floor.

“Fluffy’s a Cerberus that Hagrid brought here a while ago. Borrowed, technically,” Hermione chimed in, her tone calm and confident. “He’s a good boy, really. I was terrified the first time I saw him too, but he’s harmless once you get to know him.”

“This might be Fluffy’s last week here,” Harry added, patting one of the dog’s heads. Fluffy, surprisingly, didn’t seem to mind. “Hagrid said he’s returning him home soon.”

“And why is Fluffy even here?” Damien asked, his gaze shifting uneasily between the trio and the giant dog. “Hagrid wouldn’t just keep a Cerberus around for no reason, would he?”

At his question, the three friends exchanged brief, anxious looks before Ron cleared his throat to answer.

“Last year, the headmaster needed a guard for a certain treasure. Fluffy was brought in for that. But since the treasure’s gone now, Fluffy’s job is done too.”

“Yeah, so don’t worry,” Ron added hastily, “he’s a nice boy, just like we said.”

Damien wasn’t convinced. Something about their explanation felt incomplete, like they were holding back. But for now, he chose to let it go.

Instead, he turned his attention to the trapdoor Fluffy was guarding. “So, how do we get through?” he asked, noting that the Cerberus showed no intention of moving.

“Fluffy, could you step aside?” Ron tried, his voice hopeful.

The dog didn’t budge. All three heads stared at Ron for a moment, then turned away dismissively.

“Looks like he’s not moving,” Damien said, unimpressed.

Ron’s cheeks turned red with embarrassment. Hermione and Harry exchanged amused glances before chuckling softly.

“Fluffy takes his job very seriously,” Harry explained. “Hagrid told me he doesn’t make exceptions—not even for people he likes. If he’s given a task, he’ll see it through no matter what.”

“So there’s no way past him?” Damien asked, disappointment creeping into his voice. He had been curious about what lay beyond the trapdoor, but he wasn’t eager to fight a Cerberus to find out.

“There is a way,” Hermione said, gently stroking one of Fluffy’s heads.

“Yeah,” Harry added with a nostalgic smile. “It’s actually pretty simple once you know the trick. We’ve done it before.”

Damien raised an eyebrow. Being the newest addition to their group, he had no idea what they were talking about. Thankfully, Hermione didn’t leave him in suspense for long.

With a confident flick of her wand, she conjured a harp out of thin air.

“Did Professor McGonagall teach you that?” Damien asked, impressed by the seamless execution of the spell.

“You’re not the only one with a professor’s favor, Damien,” Hermione replied with a smirk.

Damien and Harry chuckled, but Ron groaned. “Great, another reminder that I’m the least special one here.”

The group laughed as Hermione finished her spell. The harp began to play on its own, filling the room with a soothing, melodic tune.

Damien looked on, baffled. “What’s the harp for?”

“It’s Fluffy’s weakness,” Harry explained. “He can’t resist music. The moment he hears it, he falls asleep. Hagrid told us about it.”

“Exactly,” Hermione added. “It’s a clever trick—nobody would think to play music for a guard dog unless they knew.”

Damien watched in amazement as Fluffy’s six eyelids grew heavy. One by one, the heads began to droop, and soon, the massive Cerberus was fast asleep, its snores rumbling softly through the corridor.

“Well,” Ron said, already walking toward the trapdoor. “What are we waiting for?”

Harry and Hermione followed quickly, urging Damien to hurry.

“Come on,” Harry called over his shoulder. “Before Fluffy wakes up.”

Damien hesitated for a moment, still processing the absurdity of the situation. But with no other option, he joined them, muttering, “I hope I don’t regret this.”

Ron wasted no time and jumped straight through the trapdoor, shouting, “Jump!”

Harry gave Damien a reassuring nod before following suit. Hermione offered a calm, “You’ll be fine,” before leaping in as well.

Left alone, Damien sighed. “I really hope I don’t regret this.” With that, he jumped.

The moment he landed, regret hit him like a brick.

“What the—what is this?”

Thick, writhing vines coiled around his legs and arms, tightening their grip with every movement. Above him, the dim light of the trapdoor faded as more tendrils reached for him.

‘By the demons, from the mouth of the beast to the grasp of the Devil’s Snare!”