"Malfoy tricked you," Hermione said to Harry. "You realize that, don't you? He was never going to meet you. Filch knew someone was going to be in the trophy room, Malfoy must have tipped him off."
Harry thought she was probably right, but he wasn't going to say so.
"Let's go," Harry said, turning around.
However, things were not that simple.
They had barely taken ten steps when the doorknob of a classroom door rattled, and something shot out in front of them.
It was Peeves! He let out a delighted, piercing shriek the moment he saw them.
"Shut up, Peeves, please! You'll get us thrown out," Ron pleaded, his face pale.
Peeves cackled, not caring in the slightest what Ron was saying.
"Naughty firsties, wandering around in the middle of the night. Tsk, tsk, tsk. Naughty, naughty, you'll get caughty," he said in a singsong voice, mimicking the Sorting Hat.
"Peeves, do you want to know where the Bloody Baron got all that silver blood on him?" Marcel, who had been watching for a moment, suddenly spoke up.
"Eh?" Peeves started at the name, a clear trace of fear in his expression. "H-how did he get it?"
"Hehe, let me tell you, the Baron loved to eat poltergeists even when he was alive, and he still does now that he's dead..." Marcel's face suddenly turned grim, and he drew out his words in a long, sinister tone.
"I just saw him pass by over there. Did you see him?"
"Oh! No—"
Peeves shrieked and shot off through the wall.
"Oh, Marcel, you're so cool!" Ron said. Harry and Neville nodded in vigorous agreement.
"Poltergeists?" Hermione asked, looking puzzled. "What does that have to do with Peeves? Isn't he a ghost?"
"I asked the Bloody Baron. Peeves is a poltergeist, not a ghost," Marcel said, shaking his head. "He can touch solid objects. Regular ghosts can't do that."
"You talked to the Bloody Baron? Doesn't he look terrifying?" Ron asked in astonishment.
Marcel shook his head again. He gestured for everyone to start moving and explained casually, "The Bloody Baron is a decent fellow. Don't be scared by his appearance. He has always been loyal to Hogwarts, both in life and in death. Alohomora!"
The others were distracted by him suddenly taking out his wand and casting a spell. When they came to their senses, they realized they had reached the end of the corridor.
"Let's get inside and find a place to hide first. At least we need to avoid Fil—" Marcel stopped mid-sentence.
"What's wrong? Why aren't you going in?" Ron asked in a hushed voice.
"...I think," Marcel said, backing away from the door. He turned his head and gave an awkward smile. "We might be better off going to meet Filch."
Marcel slammed the door shut with a bang. An earth-shattering roar immediately came from inside.
"That was a big dog," Harry seemed to have glimpsed it just before the door closed.
"Yes, a dog with three heads," Marcel said with a shrug, then immediately shouted, "Run!"
As if in response to Marcel's words, the door began to vibrate violently. The huge dog was undoubtedly ramming it from the inside.
They scrambled back into the corridor and took off, practically flying. Filch must have been busy searching for them elsewhere, as they didn't see him. Not that they cared—all they could think about was getting as far away from that monster as possible.
Harry's group didn't stop until they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady on the eighth floor, only to find that Marcel had disappeared.
"I saw him run downstairs. He probably went back to the Hufflepuff dorm," Hermione panted.
In fact, Marcel hadn't gone straight back to the dorm. He first made a trip to the Hogwarts kitchens to get something to eat. He hadn't eaten much at dinner, and after all that running around, he was feeling a bit hungry.
…
For the current Marcel, "rest" was a luxury, as he always felt that time was never enough.
After the night of wandering Hogwarts with Harry and the others, Marcel once again threw himself into his studies and research. It wasn't just Potions; he couldn't let his progress in other subjects fall too far behind. At least, he couldn't relax too much until he was confident in his practical abilities.
After all, Voldemort was still lurking in the shadows. He didn't want to lack the ability to protect himself and escape when the Death Eater army came knocking.
Once the invisibility potion was successfully brewed, he would make a nighttime raid on the Restricted Section. If possible, he also wanted to study those so-called "Dark Arts" to see how they fundamentally differed from other magic.
Time always slips away quietly. By the time you look back, you find that many things around you have changed.
On Halloween Eve, when Marcel once again encountered the mysterious Slytherin girl in the library, he realized that he had unknowingly spent almost two months at Hogwarts.
"Excuse me, do you know where the books on 'how to cultivate Shrivelfigs' are kept?"
The same flat, monotonous tone. A question almost identical to the last one. And once again, she was standing right behind him. Marcel stared speechlessly at the girl for a moment before pulling a book from the large pile in front of him and placing it on the chair beside him.
"I happen to have one right here. you can sit down and read it," Marcel suggested softly.
To Marcel's surprise, the girl obediently pulled out the chair, put down her notebook, and sat down quietly next to him. He had thought this girl never listened to what others said.
After a good while, Marcel watched the girl flip back and forth through the thick book. She held a pale green quill in her right hand, but not a single word had been written in her notebook.
"Are you having some difficulty?" Marcel couldn't help but ask.
"Too many steps, and too many words. I don't know where to start writing," the girl said, looking up with a serious expression.
For the first time, Marcel got a clear look at the mysterious girl's face. Large, round eyes, a small, delicate nose, and fair skin so pale it was almost translucent, all declared her to be an exceptionally exquisite and lovely girl.
And, peeking out from under the brim of her hat, were a few strands of hair. Her hair seemed to be white, an almost unnaturally unhealthy white.
She probably disliked people seeing her hair, which was why she kept it all tucked inside her pointed hat.
"...Write this down: Shrivelfig, a deciduous plant with a strong root system, can survive the winter. Low water requirement, water every one to two weeks; medium fertilizer requirement, fertilize every three to five weeks, Dragon Dung is best..."
Marcel turned his head, looked at the book to recall the details, and then began to relay the contents in an organized manner. The girl didn't seem to worry that Marcel might remember incorrectly, and she wrote down everything he said verbatim with her quill.
Marcel watched as the girl wrote the last letter. He was about to say something when she suddenly closed her notebook and placed the book back on the pile in front of him.
Then, under Marcel's astonished gaze, she stood up silently and left the library without another word.
"—Again?" Marcel rubbed his nose and muttered to himself, "Did I do something to annoy her? Or does she just not like help from others? Or maybe, she's just extremely introverted?"
Waking up the next morning, Marcel could smell the sickly sweet scent of baked pumpkin wafting through the corridors. To be honest, Marcel disliked pumpkins. He disliked all food made from them; the slimy texture of pumpkin flesh made his whole being feel queasy.
After the first class of the morning, Marcel was making his way through the crowded corridors with everyone else. The next class was Charms with Professor Flitwick, so he needed to head upstairs.
"...No wonder nobody can stand her," Marcel suddenly heard Ron's voice faintly in the jostling crowd. "She's a nightmare, honestly."
Then, he found a girl had crashed right into his chest.
"Oh, by Merlin! I think this is a bit sudden, I'm not ready... Hermione?" Marcel took a closer look. With that messy bush of long hair, who else could it be but Miss Granger?
"I think she heard you," Marcel heard Harry's voice again, but he couldn't see where they were.
"Oh, s-sorry," Hermione mumbled, seemingly not yet realizing who she had bumped into.
"Er, it's alright. I mean, what happened, Hermione?" Marcel looked down at her and noticed her eyes were red. "Who bullied you?"
"Ah! Marcel, it's, it's nothing..."
Hermione looked up at him, then ran off again in a hurry. Marcel watched as she quickly disappeared into the crowd, feeling a bit baffled. What on earth had just happened?
As the saying goes, "you can't see the forest for the trees." When you're in the middle of a situation, you tend to overlook things because of the colorful variety of events around you. It wasn't until Marcel reached the entrance of the Great Hall at dinnertime that he overheard a conversation between two Gryffindor girls.
"...Have you seen Hermione today?"
"I just found her. She's been crying in the girls' bathroom all day and won't let anyone comfort her."
Marcel suddenly came to his senses. Looking at the vibrant Halloween decorations in the Great Hall, he finally realized—Quirrell must be letting the troll in right now!
"The third floor? Could it be Myrtle's bathroom?"
As he thought this, he quickly ran back, but when he reached the second floor, he felt something was wrong.
"What was Quirrell's goal again... Oh! The Philosopher's Stone!"
For the past two months, Marcel had been completely immersed in the ocean of magical knowledge, and had almost completely forgotten about the Philosopher's Stone.
"So, what's a convenient place to let in a troll, and also convenient for him to escape the crowd?" Marcel calmed down and thought for a moment, then quickly came to a reverse conclusion. Hermione was in the dungeons!