"Where are we now?" Friegg gasped, breath catching in his throat as he darted a panicked glance behind him.
"Fourth floor—just past the Curse Classroom," Adrian Blackwood answered in a low, steady voice. Though he too was sprinting, his breathing was even, his movements fluid. Thanks to his ongoing training in the Room of Requirement and the enhancements from the system, Adrian's stamina was far above average for a first-year. Beneath the folds of his enchanted Ravenclaw robe, a Phantom Displacement charm shimmered faintly, concealing his outline in shadow. Even if someone looked directly at him, they'd struggle to pin him down.
"I think we lost him," Harry panted, leaning back against the cool stone wall and swiping a sleeve across his damp forehead.
"Malfoy lied to you!" Hermione snapped, glaring at Harry. "Don't you get it? Mr. Blackwood even warned you! Why he bothers helping you, I'll never understand—but Malfoy never intended to meet you at the trophy room. He told Filch instead! That's how Filch got there so fast!"
Ron shifted uncomfortably. Even he had to admit Hermione had a point. Still, like Harry, he wasn't too keen on handing her more credit than necessary.
"That two-faced ferret!" Friegg muttered, red-faced with rage. "Even Dudley Dursley only relied on brute strength. Malfoy's sneaky tricks make him look like a preschool bully."
"Out of bed at night! Tsk-tsk-tsk! Naughty, naughty students out of bed!" came a high-pitched, gleeful cackle.
The voice belonged to Peeves the Poltergeist—Hogwarts' infamous spirit of chaos. He came cartwheeling around the corner in mid-air, face wide and twisted with mischievous glee. His brightly colored harlequin outfit jingled as he moved, long-toed slippers flopping with every turn. His eyes gleamed with equal parts humor and malice, a perfect reflection of the troublemaker he was.
Most magical entities of his kind had long since faded from the world, but Peeves had haunted Hogwarts since its founding. His antics were legendary, and even the teachers—especially Argus Filch—were driven mad by him. The only people capable of subduing him were the Bloody Baron and, occasionally, Albus Dumbledore.
"Hurry—we can't let him draw attention!" Adrian grabbed Hermione's arm and yanked her forward, stopping her from trying to reason with the poltergeist.
"Students out of bed!" Peeves howled, flying upside down. "Curse Corridor! Curse Corridor! Naughty children on the fourth floor!"
The sound of boot heels echoed through the hall. Filch was close—and closing in fast.
"He's coming!" Harry hissed, and the group broke into another desperate sprint.
"This door—try it!" Ron skidded to a halt and threw his weight against a heavy wooden door. Friegg joined him, shoulder to the frame, grunting with the effort.
"Locked!" Ron groaned.
"Stand back!" Hermione snapped. She brushed Adrian's hand aside and took a step forward with a look of fierce determination in her eyes—the kind of look one would expect from the wielder of a dragon heartstring wand.
Adrian had already begun lifting his own wand, ready to cast Alohomora, but Hermione beat him to it.
She pointed her wand, tapped the lock, and whispered, "Alohomora."
With a sharp click, the door swung inward.
They rushed inside and slammed it shut, pressing their ears against the wood. None of them noticed that Adrian's gaze was no longer fixed on the hallway. His attention had shifted—drawn not to Filch, but to what loomed in the room ahead.
Meanwhile, outside, Peeves gleefully ignored Filch's furious commands. As the caretaker arrived—wild-eyed and wheezing, Mrs. Norris circling his feet—Peeves pelted him with dust from a nearby suit of armor and lobbed a half-dead spider at his balding head. Filch roared in frustration, stomped in retreat, and fled with his cat in tow, muttering oaths. Peeves cackled louder, hurling bits of parchment and an empty inkwell after him.
Inside the room, Harry finally exhaled. "I think we're safe," he whispered, sliding down the wall in relief.
"No… we're not," Friegg stammered. His voice trembled as his teeth chattered. Instinctively, he clutched Adrian's sleeve.
Hermione let out a short, sharp scream—a sound born of real terror, too stunned to be loud.
There, rising like a dark shadow from the corner of the chamber, was Fluffy—the three-headed dog Hagrid had secretly entrusted to Dumbledore.
A guardian beast of enormous size, the Cerberus had been brought from Greece and modified through breeding. This particular specimen retained diluted traces of Underworld creature blood, which gave it a faint sulfurous scent and a deeply unnatural presence. It towered over the students, filling the space from floor to vaulted ceiling. Each of its three heads stared with glowing eyes, nostrils flaring as they sniffed the intruders, and from each yawning mouth dripped ropes of foul-smelling saliva.
The monstrous dog stood motionless for now—but alert. Ready.
Adrian's heart pounded. He recognized the type immediately. Cerberus guardians were rare in modern Britain, but in his self-study sessions and system-provided bestiaries, he'd read enough to know: music could lull it to sleep. Even a diluted lineage still retained that ancient vulnerability.
But the stench of sulfur made it clear—this wasn't a harmless pet.
It was a warning.
And they had just trespassed into something far more dangerous than a midnight detention.
Beneath the enormous three-headed dog was a trapdoor made of dark, rune-marked wood, concealing the passage that led directly to the Philosopher's Stone. But Adrian Blackwood wasn't fooled. He believed, as any clear-eyed observer might, that this elaborate setup was not for genuine protection. It was a carefully constructed test—one Dumbledore had designed specifically for Harry Potter. Otherwise, why not simply destroy the Philosopher's Stone? If Dumbledore had truly wanted to keep it from falling into the wrong hands, all he needed was a conversation with its true owner, Nicolas Flamel. The two had been lifelong friends. And in fact, that's what eventually happened: once Voldemort failed to steal the Stone, it was quietly destroyed shortly after Harry recovered in the Hospital Wing.
That, to Adrian, made it crystal clear—Dumbledore and Flamel had already come to an agreement beforehand. Flamel had likely brewed enough Elixir of Life to grant himself and his wife Perenelle time to settle their affairs before allowing the Stone to be destroyed.
Adrian had no intention of interfering with Dumbledore's plans. He didn't yet have the power to challenge such people, nor did he see a reason to draw their attention. The events of this night were important to Harry's journey—and indeed, more people had been involved than in the original timeline, including Friegg, Ron, and Hermione. But Adrian had no desire to completely detach himself from Harry. That would seem too suspicious, especially since "the old bee"—as Adrian called Dumbledore—already knew about their connection in the Muggle world. Better to participate in a way that felt natural, drifting in and out as his mood dictated—just like tonight. It allowed him to observe without drawing unwanted scrutiny.
Father really did land me in a mess, Adrian thought, shaking his head to banish the old resentment from his heart.
With a metallic click, Hermione twisted the door handle and pushed it open. The group tumbled out, gasping for air. Behind them, Fluffy snarled and snapped, his thick iron chains the only thing keeping him from lunging forward and crushing them with those massive jaws.
The four—Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Friegg—ran as if chased by banshees. They didn't stop until they reached the Fat Lady's portrait on the seventh floor, gasping beneath the warm glow of a torch sconce.
"Where's Adrian? Did anyone see where Adrian went?" Harry asked suddenly, spinning around in the Gryffindor common room, voice taut with worry. The others looked at each other, confused. None of them had seen him slip away.
"Relax. He was still with us when we left the fourth floor. With his skills, there's no way he'd get caught," Friegg reassured him, grabbing Harry's shoulder to stop him from running back out.
Adrian had already used a light displacement spell to leave the group unnoticed. He wasn't concerned for their safety now—Fluffy's chains would hold, and he doubted Dumbledore would allow real harm to befall them. What had captured Adrian's attention was something else entirely: the three-headed dog. Seeing the legendary beast up close had sparked a deep interest in magical creatures.
Once I finish the system's initial progression path, I'll dive into the study of magical creatures properly, Adrian resolved, already imagining the index entries he'd write in his enchanted bestiary.
After returning to the Ravenclaw common room through the Tower's side staircase, Adrian paused. From a distance, he spotted Filch—covered in soot and cobwebs, limping along with Mrs. Norris pacing beside him. The caretaker muttered angrily as he wandered the corridor, clearly still recovering from Peeves' relentless torment.
"Potter… Peeves… cursed pranksters… garbage everywhere! Armor in pieces! I'll need a mop, no, a bloody army… Come, Mrs. Norris, we'll fetch some tools and clean this mess the Muggle way!"
Watching the grimy, stooped figure disappear into the shadows, Adrian couldn't help but feel a strange twinge of sympathy. A Squib trying to maintain order in a world bursting with magic… it's tragic, really.
Filch's tragedy wasn't that he was cruel—but that he wanted magic and was denied it. Just as Petunia Dursley had grown bitter and jealous after learning her sister was a witch, Filch's resentment was rooted in that same longing. He took it out on students because he couldn't touch the staff. He cowered before professors, never daring to bark at someone like Professor McGonagall. Adrian vividly remembered the way Filch had shut his mouth the moment she'd called him a "blithering idiot."
Ironically, the man's name—Argus—was derived from a Greek myth. Argus Panoptes, the all-seeing guardian of Hera, a giant with a hundred eyes. A name once meant for divine vigilance, now reduced to patrolling corridors with a lantern and a mop.
With that thought, Adrian quietly returned to the now-abandoned trophy room.
"Reparo Totale."
"Ventus Purgo."
"Tergeo Integrum."
Light spilled from his wand with each spell. The broken armor rattled and snapped back into place, each dent erased with surgical precision. Spears mended themselves, swords polished themselves. Dust and ash coalesced and gathered into a tidy heap near the wall.
"Immaculate," Adrian murmured, surveying the pristine room. "Efficiency is art."
"Quite perfect, my boy—not just your magic, but your conduct as well."
The voice behind him was sudden, soft yet commanding.
Adrian turned sharply, inwardly chiding himself for not sensing the approach. And yet, he wasn't surprised. Of course you'd be watching, Dumbledore. You'd never let Harry roam free in this castle without knowing exactly what's happening…
"Good evening, Professor Dumbledore," Adrian said smoothly, turning to face the Headmaster.
"Good evening, Mr. Blackwood," Dumbledore replied. He stepped forward from a nearby portrait frame, his robes shimmering like moonlight. "Were it not for the whisperings of a portrait or two, I might not have discovered this ancient wizard's robe you're wearing—fashionable, yet extremely rare."
The Headmaster's half-moon spectacles flashed as his piercing blue eyes examined Adrian with quiet curiosity.
"Yes, Professor. It's a treasured item of mine," Adrian replied without hesitation. He didn't attempt to conceal it. After all, clothing enchanted with concealment wasn't unheard of in the magical world. One simply needed enough galleons and the right magical threads. "It's not quite on the level of Harry's Invisibility Cloak—more like a temporary blend with shadows. Still useful, though the effects do fade with time."
Dumbledore smiled faintly. "Ah, but I find your actions even more interesting than your attire. To act with empathy, to show compassion without losing clarity—those are rarer than any artifact. And yet, you show signs of both."
It was always difficult to tell just how much Dumbledore knew. But in that moment, Adrian felt as though the old wizard could see far deeper than he let on.