After stepping out of the office, Robert couldn't help but glance back.
He hadn't expected things to be resolved so easily. He had assumed earlier that the reason Gryffindor dormitories only held five people per room was due to space constraints.
Well, that worked out. Robert turned and headed toward the tower.
The corridor was deserted, unnervingly silent, with only the echo of his footsteps bouncing off the walls.
Somewhere along the way, a bony, scrawny cat appeared ahead of him.
The creature was emaciated, its dull fur patchy and thin, and its bulging eyes looked like they might glow in the dark.
A cat?
Robert stopped in his tracks.
He'd had the nagging feeling all day that he'd forgotten something—and now he remembered.
Where was Tom?
Before the Sorting Ceremony, he'd tossed Tom onto the ground and hadn't seen him since.
Still, after a moment, Robert dismissed the thought and continued walking.
If it was Tom, it was probably the other students' pets that should be worried. That cat looked like it could survive even in the Forbidden Forest.
Robert wanted to move on, but someone—or rather, something—didn't.
That skinny cat began following him, occasionally letting out low, guttural howls.
A few minutes later, a similarly gaunt figure leapt out from the shadows at the end of the corridor.
"Aha! A student out of bed…"
"I just came from Professor McGonagall's office," Robert cut him off. "If you don't believe me, you can ask her yourself. Also, your cat doesn't seem to understand curfew. Do you not either?"
"There are still ten minutes until curfew!"
The words that were about to burst from Filch's mouth died there. His face turned a sickly green.
But Robert didn't care. He walked right past him without another glance.
"Don't let me catch you next time…"
The caretaker's threatening voice came from behind.
Robert didn't even look back. "Thanks for the reminder."
The new dormitory was located in the first-year section as well. It was spotless and quiet—just the way he liked it.
Even though the long train ride had left him completely exhausted, Robert decided to write a letter to his grandfather first, updating him on his current situation.
The letter was brief. He mainly reported on the Sorting Ceremony and mentioned that he'd applied for and received a single dorm room, which was more convenient for continuing his wand-making work.
At the end, he asked his grandfather to send his regards to his parents and let them know how he was doing.
His parents were currently overseas, and Robert wasn't sure if the school owls could make the journey across the ocean, so he decided to use the Owl Post Office instead.
Once that was done, he'd intended to finish a wand he'd been working on, but his fatigue overtook him. Dizzy and groggy, he collapsed onto the nearest bed and fell asleep.
The next morning.
Robert woke up early, went to the Owlery to send off his letter, and then had breakfast in the Great Hall.
Hermione and Neville were already there.
Hermione seemed the same as always—bright-eyed and attentive—but Neville was behaving oddly.
He greeted Robert with a very soft voice, and for the rest of breakfast, kept his head turned, deliberately avoiding looking at him.
Even Hermione noticed.
"What's wrong with you?" she asked, frowning.
"Nothing, nothing." Neville shook his head quickly, then hesitated. After a few minutes of silent debate with himself, he finally turned to Robert and asked, "Do you… look down on us?"
The question hung heavy in the air.
Neville's breathing grew faster after asking, but his expression remained firm. His eyes were rimmed red, his neck tense as he stared Robert down.
"What makes you say that?"
"We heard you applied for a single dorm room yesterday. Isn't that because you didn't want to live with us?"
"You… wait, you were supposed to be my roommate?"
"Who else?" Neville answered, listing names. "Harry, Ron, Seamus…"
"Oh, it was you guys," Robert said, raising an eyebrow.
"You didn't know?" Neville looked stunned.
"No, I didn't." Robert calmly spread butter on his bread. "I never even went inside that dormitory. I only glanced at the door before going to Professor McGonagall. How could I have known who my roommates were?"
"Then… why did you want to change rooms?"
"Hm. That's a long story." Robert paused to think. "If you really want to know, come to my place at seven tonight. Then you'll understand."
"Okay. We'll come."
That response didn't come from Neville—but from behind. Harry and Ron had just arrived for breakfast and overheard Robert's words.
From the look on their faces, they were just as upset about Robert's sudden decision to change rooms.
Ron was muttering to Harry, saying things like, "Pure-bloods are always like this…"
Robert ignored it.
Hermione tried to change the subject, hoping to lighten the mood. "Oh, um, how do you deal with those moving stairs?"
"The simplest way is to follow behind older students," Robert replied. "Or ask the ghosts. Nearly Headless Nick and the Fat Friar are both helpful."
Interestingly, throughout the day, Neville, Harry, Ron, and Seamus avoided speaking to Robert as if they'd agreed to it beforehand.
Harry looked like he wanted to say something a few times, but Ron always pulled him away before he could.
Robert found the whole thing mildly amusing.
That evening, after finishing Astronomy class and observing the stars with telescopes, the first-years returned to the common room together.
Fred and George were at the entrance, loudly discussing something with great enthusiasm.
"Hey, have you heard?" Fred called out when he saw them. "Last night, Mrs. Norris was attacked—ha!"
"Who?" Harry asked, confused.
"Mrs. Norris."
"Who's that?"
"Filch's cat," Ron supplied.
"Ohhh." Harry nodded, finally remembering the caretaker they'd encountered earlier.
"What happened to the cat?" someone asked, intrigued.
Mrs. Norris was infamous for patrolling the corridors with Filch and catching students breaking the rules.
Among the curses whispered in the detention rooms, her name was mentioned nearly as often as Filch's. Many wanted to get rid of her—but no one had dared.
Until now.
"We're not sure," said Fred.
Robert noticed the wand in his hand—it was definitely Fred.
"But it probably wasn't a student," George chimed in. "We snuck into the Hospital Wing. Mrs. Norris's leg was broken. She had claw marks all over her, and a patch of fur was missing."
"Judging by the wounds, the one who got rid of that menace… might be a cat too."
"Probably not a student," Fred repeated.
For a moment, silence fell across the common room as everyone processed the shocking news.
But the quiet didn't last.
"Well, either way, today's worth celebrating!" Fred announced, raising his hand.
George added, "To the hero of Hogwarts!"
"I wish they'd done the same to Filch!" someone laughed.
The twins stepped aside, revealing a pile of biscuits, cakes, and even bottles of butterbeer they had hidden behind them.
"Whoa, where'd all this come from?" Ron's eyes lit up.
"The school kitchens," Fred answered.
"I meant the butterbeer."
"Ah, that…" George winked. "That's a secret."
Soon, the party was in full swing.
Everyone dug in with enthusiasm, and even Robert was handed a bottle of butterbeer.
But he didn't drink it.
Mrs. Norris had been attacked—and the culprit might very well be another cat.
That kind of wild, dominant energy…
It felt eerily familiar.
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