Harry Potter: From Young Wizard to White Devil

"Sixty points! How many questions do I have to answer in class to earn that many back?"

"Harry! Potter! You didn't just knock down Malfoy, you knocked down the House Cup! Merlin's beard—"

"Who's Merlin?" Ron muttered beside him. Hermione shot him a fierce glare.

Harry was miserable. The terrifying flight earlier and Professor McGonagall's hours-long scolding had left him shaken. He didn't dare say a word in defense.

Every Gryffindor passing him in the corridor would ask, half-laughing: "Potter, we lost sixty points. What exactly did you do?"

"Harry, I heard you took out Malfoy? Well done—but how are you going to win our points back?"

Most of them were joking. Very few were as serious as Hermione—after all, compared to humiliating Slytherin, what were a few lost points?

Harry didn't want to respond. He buried his head on the long table, stuffing cold pie into his mouth. He was starving.

Ron licked his lips and couldn't help reaching for a piece of pie, but Hermione batted his hand away with her wand.

"That's Harry's! You already ate!"

"But he looks like he's really enjoying it..."

Hermione didn't bother responding. She kept scolding while Harry ate, but once they returned to the Gryffindor common room, she began pacing again. "You're doing detention with Malfoy? Where exactly?"

"The trophy room. We're cleaning trophies," Harry said through a mouthful.

"Just the two of you?"

"And Mrs. Norris. She's supervising us."

Mrs. Norris was Filch's cat. Everyone knew how clever she was. At night, she patrolled every corner of Hogwarts, catching students out of bed.

Even a cat lover like Hermione felt uneasy around her. The creature was skinny, with dusty gray fur and bulging eyes. Caught off guard, you might mistake her for a ghost.

Ron shivered and hugged Scabbers tightly. His experience over the summer had left him wary of cats.

"You shouldn't go, Harry," Ron said. "Ask a professor to change your location—at least get away from Malfoy."

Hermione nodded. She agreed—Malfoy was too sneaky. There was no way Harry could outmatch him.

"I want to go..." Harry's tone was gloomy. "Professor McGonagall said my dad played Quidditch, and his trophies are in the case. I want to see them."

The two friends fell silent and didn't argue anymore.

But when Harry finished his homework that night and headed out, Ron and Hermione quietly followed.

"Why are you tailing me?"

"In case Malfoy bullies you!" Ron replied righteously.

Hermione crossed her arms. "I'm more worried you'll fight again. If Gryffindor loses more points, we'll hit rock bottom."

Harry was touched. He knew they were just worried about him.

He didn't have the heart to tell them off, so he said, "Fine, but be stealthy. Don't let Filch or Mrs. Norris see you—and definitely not Malfoy. He'll scream the moment he sees you and accuse you of sneaking out."

They both nodded.

Harry led the way with a light, and Hermione and Ron followed quietly behind. By the time they reached the third floor, the lights of the trophy room were visible ahead.

Filch was waiting at the door, torch in hand. Hermione and Ron quickly ducked into a corner.

They heard his high-pitched, raspy voice: "Harry Potter! Get over here! Don't think you can run from detention. You should be thankful—it used to mean torture… Hand over your wand!"

Malfoy snapped right back: "Here, you old bat! Careful with that—if there's even a scratch on it, I'll have my father fire you! He's on the board!"

There was some commotion from inside. A moment later, Filch hobbled away in another direction, leaving Mrs. Norris stationed at the door.

Hermione and Ron stayed hidden, watching from the shadows, ready to jump out and rescue Harry at the first sign of trouble.

But what startled them first was a voice behind them.

"What are you two doing?" Ron clutched his chest like an opera singer about to belt a high note, his face frozen in horror.

"Silencio!" The spell hit him squarely, rendering him instantly mute.

Hermione, quicker to react, clamped her hand over her mouth and turned around.

Vaughn!

In the dim corridor, Vaughn stood wearing woolen pajamas. At his feet sat Hexby. In his hand was a rope—its other end tied to...

Peeves!

Peeves was floating in the air like a balloon, bound by some spell. Though he bared his teeth in frustration, he couldn't move at all.

"Vaughn, what are you doing here? And... Peeves—?"

"I'm walking him," Vaughn said cheerfully.

"Last time, I rewrote that sign outside the Slytherin common room, and this guy spread it everywhere, just to cause trouble. I think he misunderstood me. So I've been... working things out with him. We're friends now, right, Peeves?"

He tugged the rope.

Peeves nodded exaggeratedly and rolled his eyes.

The sight made Ron press flat against the wall, trying to blend in.

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out.

Peeves was loathed by all students, but nothing could be done about him. He wasn't quite a ghost, not quite alive—somewhere in between. Most spells didn't even affect him.

Hermione's eyes lit up with curiosity. She clearly wanted to ask Vaughn how he managed this.

Vaughn seemed to know what she was thinking. He grinned. "Found it in the library. I'll show you sometime. But right now, I've got another issue to handle."

Even as he spoke, a shadow darted past Ron's feet. Those bulging eyes scanned the group—Mrs. Norris.

She looked just as skeletal and creepy as ever. But Vaughn showed no fear or disgust. Calmly, he pulled out a piece of dried fish and held it out to her.

"Meow—" Mrs. Norris let out a strange cry.

Just as Hermione and Ron tensed, expecting her to bolt and alert Filch, the cat surprised them by sitting down and chewing the fish politely.

Only Hexby seemed annoyed, flicking its tail in protest.

Watching this, Ron waved his arms wildly. Vaughn glanced at him and removed the Silencing Charm.

"Merlin's beard!" Ron's freckles turned scarlet with excitement. "Vaughn, how did you do that? Teach me!"