Chapter 75: Forced Night Wandering
Hogwarts' school rules fill pages of history, but the most important one is nowhere to be found—namely, all of the above are null and void until you are caught.
Corridor.
Mrs Norris sprang up a step. Her body was lean and sharp, her dark grey fur catching the moonlight in a faint sheen.
In the air, Shawn could hear his own heartbeat, drumbeats hammering at his eardrums, loud enough to wake the dozing portraits on the walls.
Moonlight slanted through the high, narrow windows and fell in pale splashes across the flagstones, as if ghosts might leap out the next second.
Night-time wandering was strictly forbidden.
Even if it had practically become a Gryffindor tradition, it did not mean the professors would not punish the mischievous little lions hard.
Shawn remembered: after Harry and the others came back from the Forbidden Forest, Filch had found them in the castle and alerted Professor McGonagall. They lost a full 150 points and were put in detention.
The reason was simple: students had no right to tramp around school at midnight. It was dangerous.
Losing points would not matter much to Shawn—he could easily earn them back.
Detention was different. Detention meant being sent by a professor to handle odd jobs, which would consume time. Time was the one thing Shawn lacked most.
His breathing tightened. A rush of thoughts hit him at once.
If he was given detention, the last month's push might be wasted.
What could he do to avoid it?
Wind curled in from the windows, and the turn of fate arrived as suddenly as such things do.
After a soft meow, Mrs Norris slipped close. Shawn could see Filch's assistant, unexpectedly, show a hint of fondness.
"Oh. Thank you," Shawn murmured, understanding dawning.
Three days earlier, near the dungeons, he had seen a crowd of Gryffindors hemming in Mrs Norris. Mr Filch was badly disliked by students—and so, by extension, was Mrs Norris. Some looked ready to give her a swift kick.
Shawn had stood nearby and watched. In the end, the brash first-years drifted off on their own.
"Thank you, Mrs Norris."
He remembered something, fished a small box of dried fish out of his bag—Justin's gift—and held it out.
Mrs Norris leaned into his hand. Shawn could not resist; he scratched the furry head.
[You gained the friendliness of the magical creature, cat—Mrs Norris, at Proficient standard. Proficiency +10]
The panel that popped into his mind made him jump. He flicked it open; a new line had appeared:
[Magical Creature: Cat (Mrs Norris): Not Friendly (10/90)]
[Apprentice-level Magical Creature Affinity unlocks an Apprentice title in Magical Creatures]
An unexpected gain.
Thinking it over, Shawn padded on softly along the corridor.
Far behind him, at the end of a passage swallowed by darkness, two small yellow glows hovered low in the air.
Mrs Norris.
She moved without a sound, her soft pads pressing the chill stone without a whisper.
Her bulb-bright, all-seeing yellow eyes locked, unblinking, on the slight figure ahead—the one she now felt drawn to. In her mouth, she held, lazily but precisely, a small silvery strip of dried fish. It carried a faint tang beneath her sharp teeth, and with the slight tilt of her head, it flashed in the moonlight now and again.
"Oh, Minerva, as I always say, magical creatures find the kind children at a glance," said a wizard in purple robes with a very long, very white beard, standing by a gleaming suit of armor. His voice was mild and full of meaning.
At his left, the tall witch's worry never let up. She watched the boy's pale face feel its way through the flicker and shadow, her gaze far and unfocused.
The old wizard's blue eyes twinkled. At that instant, the armor beside Shawn dropped its sword.
Clang.
The sound rang like a bell in the stillness.
Shawn snapped his head around, rigid.
Was exhaustion making him clumsy? He did not remember knocking the armor.
No time to wonder. He quickened his pace. Wind hissed past his ears. The nerves of this midnight walk left him no room to notice how the corridor ahead had brightened.
A lantern-bearer burst out from behind a tapestry at Shawn's right. He wheezed, eyes wild, swinging the light as he hunted for miscreants.
A thick, checkered scarf was wrapped high around his head. His nose glowed an alarming red.
Shawn ducked behind the armor, heart pounding.
"Shawn Green! Night wandering! Making a mess of the place! I have had enough! Green, come with me!"
Well. Done for.
Shawn sighed, stepped out from the armor—and somehow felt calmer than before.
Elsewhere, by another suit of armor, Minerva McGonagall turned her head, fury nearly leaping from her eyes. The old wizard looked away and pretended not to notice.
"Ah, Minerva, you and I both know he does not deserve punishment. But let us see how he handles... Mr Filch."
Shawn had never imagined entering Filch's office like this—most students avoided the place like the plague.
It was a dim and dirty room, without windows. A solitary oil lamp dangled from the low ceiling.
A faint smell of fried fish hung in the air.
Wooden filing cabinets lined the walls. From the labels, Shawn knew they contained detailed records of every student Filch had punished.
Fred and George Weasley had an entire drawer to themselves.
On the wall behind Filch's desk hung a shining set of chains, manacles, and fetters. Everyone knew Filch had often begged Dumbledore to let him string students up by their ankles from the ceiling.
Shawn was more concerned with the mud smeared across floor and walls—and with the stray bits of rat innards that stank. Clear signs of the latest audacity from certain first-years.
"Blasted brats, mud everywhere, hours of scrubbing and scouring. Hours! Ah—Green, Green, bold, are we—an example must be made... the form... here..."
He pulled a long roll of parchment from a drawer, spread it out, and took up a long black quill to dip in the inkpot.
"Name... Shawn Green. Offense..."
"Night wandering," Shawn said plainly.
Filch blinked.
"So you know your offense! And still dared to do it! I shall see you expelled!" he snarled.