Chapter 16: The Three-Headed Dog and a Choice
The next morning at breakfast, Hermione ignored the usual protocol and the hostile glares, marching straight to the Slytherin table and stopping in front of Solim.
"Solim, I need to talk to you. Last night, we—" she began, but was cut off before she could finish. A Gryffindor Muggle-born in the heart of blood-purist territory was bound to attract attention. If not for the watchful eyes of the professors, she might have had wands pointed at her.
"Well, well, if it isn't the—" Blaise Zabini started, a sneer forming on his lips.
"Blaise," Solim interrupted, his voice calm but firm, his eyes still on his plate. "Are you really about to use that word?"
Zabini opened his mouth to retort, but Draco kicked him sharply under the table. Solim finally looked up, offering a thin, warning smile to both of them before turning to Hermione. "You haven't eaten. Go back to your table. We'll talk later."
After a chastened Hermione retreated, Solim turned his attention back to his housemates. "There's nothing wrong with taking pride in your lineage," he said, spearing a piece of kipper. "But using it as a weapon to belittle others," he glanced at Zabini, "is a childish and lowly practice. Blaise, I'll be very interested to see your final exam results."
"Exam results?" Zabini scoffed. "What does a written grade prove?"
"Not everything. But it proves a great deal." Solim wiped his mouth with a napkin and stood. "Draco, come with me."
A few minutes later, Solim experienced a taste of the Gryffindor welcome as he and Draco approached the red-and-gold table. The jeers and muttered insults about "snakes" and "slimy gits" rolled off him; they were too pedestrian to even register. Draco, however, flushed with anger, his jaw tight. He was learning, but a lifetime of ingrained rivalry wasn't erased in a few weeks.
"Hermione," Solim said, ignoring the glares from Ron and the curious look from Harry. "The usual place. I'll bring the trunk. Don't forget the book you borrowed." Without waiting for a reply, he turned and left, Draco trailing in his wake.
"Hermione, are you telling him?" Harry asked in a low voice as she sat back down.
"I was about to."
"Why? It's none of his business," Ron mumbled through a mouthful of sausage.
"Even if I don't, Neville will," Hermione said, deftly passing the responsibility.
Ron finally swallowed. "What is this? A Slytherin spy in Gryffindor? Maybe two."
"I can't be bothered to argue with you," Hermione said, shooting him a withering look. "Neville, we should go."
"Wait, Hermione," Harry said quickly. "We're involved in this too. If there's something going on... we should know about it."
"Do what you want," Hermione said over her shoulder as she walked away. "But I'm warning you, keep your opinions to yourself."
By the time Hermione and Neville arrived at the hidden classroom, with Harry and Ron following like disgruntled shadows, Solim and Draco were already waiting.
"Alright," Solim began once they were all seated. "What was so urgent that you had to hunt me down at breakfast?"
"Solim, you remember the forbidden corridor on the fourth floor that Dumbledore mentioned at the start-of-term feast?" Hermione launched into a rushed account of their previous night's adventure, describing the massive three-headed dog and the trapdoor it was guarding.
"A Cerberus?" Solim mused, stroking his chin. "It must have been chained, or you wouldn't be here to tell the tale."
"That's not the point!" Hermione insisted, her voice rising with excitement. "It's guarding something! The dog was standing on a trapdoor!"
"So?" Solim's face remained impassive. "What does that have to do with you?"
The question hung in the air, silencing them. He was right. What did it have to do with a group of first-years?
"You're curious about what it's guarding, aren't you?" Solim said, crossing his arms and looking at each of them in turn. "But do you have the strength to satisfy that curiosity?"
Curiosity was one thing; a complete lack of self-preservation was another. In this regard, Gryffindors were notably deficient compared to the other houses. Slytherins might be curious, but they calculated the risk. Ravenclaws would be more interested in studying the beast itself. Hufflepuffs simply didn't wander into forbidden corridors after hours.
"If you're curious about the Cerberus, I recommend the works of Caspian the Curious. If you're curious about what's under the trapdoor," Solim gave a dry, humorless laugh, "then I suggest you write your wills first." His words were aimed squarely at Harry and Ron.
The way you said that... it sounds like you know something," Hermione pressed, her intuition sharp.
Solim glanced at her, considering for a moment. "You want to play this game of adventure, don't you? I won't stop you. But you will bear the consequences."
He had wrestled with this before coming to Hogwarts. To observe from the sidelines, or to step into the story? His presence here was his answer.
"You might as well guess who looks after that dog. But let me be clear: I'm not interested. If you want to risk your necks, that's your business." He felt like an NPC, doling out quests to the protagonists.
"Hagrid!" Harry and Hermione said in unison, their eyes lighting up with realization.
"Now that you have a lead, why are you still sitting here with me?" Solim said, eager to be rid of them. He had his own tasks—a meeting with Snape and a check-in with Filch. Sundays were rarely a day of rest for him.
Hermione hesitated, conflict clear on her face. Reason warred with a deep, thrilling pull towards the unknown.
"Solim... what should we do?" she finally asked, her voice small.
"Ask your own heart," Solim said, tapping a finger over his own chest. "I'll be here this evening."
Once Harry, Ron, and a conflicted Hermione had left, Solim looked at Neville, who had remained behind. "Aren't you going with them?"
Neville shook his head. "I'm going to practice the Disarming Charm today." He was a quiet boy, but he had a clear, steadfast focus that Solim respected.
"What about you, Draco?" Solim asked. Draco usually spent his Sundays sleeping or aimlessly exploring.
"I'll stay with Neville," Draco said with a shrug. "Nothing better to do."
Raising an eyebrow, Solim opened the trunk he'd brought and retrieved several vials of a shimmering blue potion. He handed them to Neville and Draco. "This is Invigoration Draught. Your magical reserves are still shallow. This will help you recover much faster, so you can practice for longer."
Draco took the vials, impressed. "Invigoration Draught? This isn't cheap. Nearly five Galleons a bottle." He looked at Solim. "What will you use?"
"I have my own supply. Use these well. Don't hoard them; they're of no use to me anymore." His grandfather had provided them. At Scuol, Solim had drunk the potion like water, using it to push his magical endurance to its limits during relentless practice sessions. It had saved him countless hours.
"Alright, practice. I have things to do. I'll see you at lunch." With a final wave, Solim left the classroom, his mind already turning to his appointment in the dungeons. He had a great deal to discuss with Professor Snape.