Harry potter and the stone

The cool autumn air brushed against Harry's face as he, Hermione, and Neville made their way back toward the castle after Herbology. The chatter of their classmates faded into the distance as they climbed the stone steps leading into the main building. The warmth of the greenhouse lingered on their robes, but the chill of the castle corridors quickly replaced it.

"I think that went rather well," Hermione said, clutching her textbook and notes tightly. "Puffapods are fascinating, don't you think? The way they bloom instantly—it's almost like they're alive in a completely different way."

Neville gave her a nervous smile. "I just hope I don't mess up as badly next time."

"You'll get the hang of it," Harry reassured him. "You were doing fine at the end."

They turned a corner into one of the wider corridors, its high ceilings and stained-glass windows giving it an almost cathedral-like feel. Harry couldn't help but glance at the suits of armor lining the walls, their polished surfaces catching the light and making them seem alive. He had the distinct impression that they were watching him.

"Where do we go next?" Neville asked, pulling out his schedule.

"Defense Against the Dark Arts," Hermione said promptly. "It's on the third floor, so we should hurry if we want to be on time."

Harry frowned. His attention wasn't on their next class but on a faint noise echoing down the corridor—a low, almost imperceptible hum, like distant whispers.

"Do you hear that?" he asked, stopping in his tracks.

"Hear what?" Hermione asked, looking at him curiously.

"That sound," Harry said, tilting his head to listen. "It's coming from down there." He pointed toward a shadowy passageway that veered off from the main corridor.

Neville's eyes widened. "I don't hear anything... but that passage looks creepy."

"It's probably just the wind," Hermione said, though she glanced toward the passage with a hint of unease.

Harry wasn't convinced. The hum felt too deliberate, too strange to be wind. He stepped closer to the passage, his footsteps echoing faintly.

"Harry, what are you doing?" Hermione asked sharply.

"Just checking," Harry said, peering into the shadows.

The passageway was dimly lit, the flickering torches casting long, shifting shadows on the stone walls. The hum grew louder as he moved closer, resolving into something more like a low, resonant chant. It was coming from deeper within, somewhere out of sight.

"Harry, we're going to be late," Hermione said, her voice edged with impatience.

He hesitated. The pull of the sound was almost hypnotic, and for a moment, he felt as though the passage was drawing him in. But Hermione was right—they couldn't afford to be late.

"Yeah, all right," he said, stepping back reluctantly. "Let's go."

The trio made their way back toward the Great Hall to grab their supplies for Defense Against the Dark Arts. The long tables were mostly empty, save for a few older students chatting over cups of tea or poring over textbooks.

Harry grabbed his bag from where he'd left it earlier, his mind still on the strange sound from the passageway. He couldn't shake the feeling that it was important—dangerous, even—but there was no time to dwell on it now.

Hermione and Neville were already heading for the stairs when Harry paused, his gaze drifting toward the staff table. Professors McGonagall and Flitwick were deep in conversation, but it was Professor Quirrell who caught his attention.

The Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher was seated at the far end of the table, his turban slightly askew as he muttered to himself. He looked pale and sweaty, his eyes darting around the hall as though expecting an attack at any moment.

"Harry, come on!" Hermione called from the doorway.

Harry shook off the uneasy feeling and hurried to join them.

As they climbed the grand staircase, the castle seemed to grow colder and darker. The cheerful chatter of the Great Hall was replaced by the creaks and groans of the ancient stonework.

"Third floor, right?" Neville asked, clutching his schedule like a lifeline.

Hermione nodded, her tone brisk. "Yes, and we should hurry. Professor Quirrell doesn't seem like the sort to appreciate tardiness."

Harry wasn't so sure about that. From what he'd seen of Quirrell so far, the man didn't seem capable of holding anyone accountable for anything. Still, he quickened his pace, determined not to draw unnecessary attention.

They passed the second-floor landing and were halfway up the next flight of stairs when Harry froze.

The hum was back.

It was faint, almost lost beneath the sound of their footsteps, but it was unmistakably the same as before. This time, though, it seemed to be coming from somewhere above them.

"Do you hear it now?" Harry asked, glancing at Hermione and Neville.

Hermione frowned. "Harry, I really think you're imagining things."

Neville looked uneasy. "Maybe it's... I don't know, the castle settling?"

Harry didn't answer. He tightened his grip on his bag and kept climbing, the strange sound following them all the way to the third floor.

The door to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom loomed ahead, slightly ajar. Harry could hear Professor Quirrell's nervous muttering from within, interspersed with the occasional rustle of parchment.

"Well, here we are," Hermione said, pushing the door open.

But Harry hesitated, glancing back down the corridor. The hum had stopped, but the sense of something watching him remained. He didn't know what it was or why it seemed to be following him, but one thing was clear: the castle was keeping secrets, and Harry was determined to uncover them.

For now, though, he stepped into the classroom, bracing himself for whatever Defense Against the Dark Arts had in store.