In the dead of night, the air grew chilly. Even inside Hogwarts Castle, there was a coldness that signaled the arrival of autumn.
The figures in the portraits lining the corridor walls were either dozing, whispering to their neighbors, or had seemingly gone out visiting, leaving only their painted backgrounds behind.
On the eighth floor, in the Gryffindor common room, the students had all gone to bed. Only the embers in the fireplace cast a faint red glow, illuminating the room in shifting shadows.
Just as Harry and Ron were tiptoeing past an armchair, they suddenly heard someone speak.
"I can't believe you're doing this, Harry."
A lamp flickered to life. It was Hermione Granger. She was wearing a pink dressing gown and frowning at them.
She did not look happy.
"You!" said Ron furiously. "Go back to bed!"
"I almost told your brother," Hermione retorted. "Percy, he's a prefect, he'd put a stop to this."
Harry couldn't believe anyone could be so nosy.
"Come on," he said to Ron. He pushed open the portrait of the Fat Lady and climbed through the hole.
Hermione was not going to give up that easily. She followed Ron through the portrait hole, hissing at them like an angry goose.
"Don't you care about Gryffindor, do you only care about yourselves? I don't want Slytherin to win the House Cup, and you'll lose all the points I got from Professor McGonagall for the Transfiguration spell!"
"Go away," Ron said impatiently.
"All right, but I've warned you. You just remember what I said when you're on the train home tomorrow. You're so—" Hermione said, turning back to the Fat Lady's portrait to climb back in, only to find herself facing an empty painting.
The Fat Lady must have gone out for a late-night visit as well.
"Oh, now what am I going to do?" she wailed in frustration.
"That's your problem," said Ron. "We've got to go, we're going to be late."
But before they had even reached the end of the corridor, Hermione had hurried to catch up with them.
"I'm coming with you," she said, looking thoroughly unwilling.
"You are not," Ron immediately refused.
"Do you think I want to? But what am I supposed to do, stand here and wait for Filch to catch me? If he finds me—"
"...Then let's go together."
Just as Hermione was still rambling on, a voice suddenly emerged from the shadows in the corner of the corridor, making everyone jump.
"Marcel! And Neville?" The three of them squinted and finally made out who was there.
Marcel ignored the trio and instead clamped a hand over Neville's mouth, who had yelped in fright.
"What are you jumping for? I've been right next to you the whole time," Marcel said in a low voice.
"I... I thought it was Filch's voice," Neville said weakly after Marcel released him.
"What are you two doing here?" Ron asked, looking at them curiously.
"Neville forgot the password to the common room," Marcel said with a shrug. "As for me, I decided to come out for a bit of a stretch and get some exercise."
"You know, I've been studying so much, I needed a break. It's not good to be inactive all the time. Your body gets rusty."
"Marcel! Are you breaking the rules too?" Hermione's eyes widened in utter shock at Marcel's statement.
Marcel gave her a teasing smile. "Hermione, aren't you coming with us too?"
"That's because—"
"Alright, alright, don't worry about it. Harry and Ron are going no matter what, it's a done deal. As your friend, it's only natural that I share in your trials and tribulations." Marcel patted Hermione's shoulder. Dressed only in her pajamas, she looked quite delicate and cute.
"Oh, you should keep warm. It's autumn now, and it gets a bit cold at night." He took off his own house robe and gently draped it over her shoulders.
"Er, thanks," Hermione said, looking down at the robe on her shoulders and swallowing the complaint that was on the tip of her tongue.
Still just a kid, after all. She didn't even blush, Marcel thought, amused, as he watched her turn to lecture Ron and Harry again.
Ron glanced at his watch, shot an angry look at Hermione, then turned back to Marcel with a happy expression. "It'd be great if you could come with us, Marcel. You always manage to help Fred and George avoid Mum's eye. Maybe you can help us avoid Filch... oh, and his blasted cat!"
Marcel shrugged. "Tricking Filch isn't hard, but Mrs. Norris is tricky to avoid. Animals always have keen senses, especially felines."
As he spoke, he suddenly pulled a small glass vial from his coat, a slight smile on his face.
"Of course, there's always a way."
"I knew it! You always have some trick up your sleeve!" Ron said, shooting a triumphant look at Hermione, as if showing off his useful friend.
Hermione opened her mouth, but after a glance at Marcel, she said nothing.
They walked briskly along the corridor. Moonlight streamed through the high windows, casting bars of light across the floor like a unique magical carpet.
With every corner they turned, Harry expected to run into Filch or Mrs. Norris. But thankfully, whether it was due to good luck or some method of Marcel's, everything went smoothly. By the time they hurried down the stairs to the third floor and tiptoed into the trophy room, they had encountered no trouble.
Malfoy and Crabbe were not there.
The crystal glass cases displaying the trophies gleamed in the moonlight pouring in from the windows. In the darkness, cups, shields, plates, and statues shone with silver and gold. Silk ribbons fluttered in the air without a breeze.
Marcel curiously examined the award plaques one by one, which detailed the reasons for each award. He was currently pondering whether he should try to win an award himself; it would surely provide some convenience for his studies and research.
The other four were not as relaxed as he was. They moved along the wall, their eyes fixed on the doors at either end of the room. Harry took out his wand, just in case Malfoy suddenly burst in to duel.
The minutes ticked by. No one appeared.
"He's late. Maybe he chickened out," Ron whispered. But a voice from the next room made them all jump.
Harry had just raised his wand when he heard someone speak—and it wasn't Malfoy.
"Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner." It was Filch speaking to Mrs. Norris.
Harry was terrified. He frantically waved his wand at the others, gesturing for them to follow him as quickly as possible. To his surprise, Marcel, with a wicked grin, walked closer to Filch's side of the room, until there was only a single door between them.
Under the horrified gazes of the others, Marcel took out his small vial again. After making a gesture to hold their breath, he carefully twisted the stopper open without making a sound.
"Oh, my love! Where are you going—" From just outside the door, Filch cried out in surprise, then anxiously chased after Mrs. Norris, who had suddenly bolted. Their footsteps quickly faded into the distance.
"Brilliant! What kind of potion is that?" Ron came over, his face full of admiration. He then immediately sneezed. "Ugh, what is that smell?"
Marcel quickly put the cork stopper back in the vial, then took two steps away and let out a long breath.
"It's not a potion, just a volatile chemical solution I mixed up. A highly irritating scent, very effective against animals with a keen sense of smell."
"Is that a secretion from a Gorgon Rattlesnake?" Hermione asked, pinching her nose as she sniffed the lingering smell in the air.
"Not just that. I had to adjust the neutralization formula, otherwise the smell wouldn't fade for days," Marcel said with a smile. "Its smell is too strong, and it would leave evidence."
"So you were planning to break the rules all along!" Hermione finally couldn't hold it in any longer. "You can't do this!" she complained in a low voice. "Your Hufflepuff house has few enough points as it is."
"I don't care about the House Cup. Honor isn't everything," Marcel said, still smiling cheekily. "Besides, one house has to come in last. I think it suits Hufflepuff's low-key philosophy."
"You can't do that!" Hermione seemed extremely displeased with Marcel's way of thinking.
Suddenly, Marcel waved a hand to stop Hermione from speaking further.
"Someone's coming. It's Filch, he's back," Marcel said softly, tilting his head to listen carefully.
"Oh, why don't you try using that bottle again?" Ron said instinctively.
"I think we should run for it!" Marcel shook his head and took the lead, breaking into a run down the dark corridor.
They rounded a pillar and ran through one corridor after another. Marcel felt his sense of direction was even worse in the dim light; he had no idea where he was.
"Oh, we've ended up by the Charms classroom," Hermione said, panting, as she looked at a classroom door not far away.
"I think we've lost him," Harry said, breathing heavily. He leaned against the cold wall, wiping sweat from his forehead. Neville was bent over, wheezing and gasping for breath.
"I think you all need to get more exercise," Marcel's breathing was only slightly heavier after the mad dash. A boy who had lived alone at the bottom of society wasn't going to be winded by a little run.
"I—told—you," Hermione gasped, clutching at the front of her nightgown. "I—told—you."
"We've got to get back to the Gryffindor tower," said Ron, "as fast as possible."