The corridors of Hogwarts seemed to buzz with whispers and hurried footsteps as Harry made his way back to the Great Hall. The air was thick with the scent of pumpkin and candle wax—a lingering reminder of the feast he'd missed.
He'd taken the long way around, avoiding the main staircases to gather his thoughts. His encounter with the professors after Sirius Black's attempted break-in had left him more determined than ever—but also on edge. There had been too many eyes on him, too many questions he couldn't answer.
Halfway down a dimly lit hallway, a cackling voice broke the silence.
"Ooooh, Potty Potter's out past bedtime!"
Peeves, the poltergeist, zipped overhead, grinning like a maniac. He swooped low, flicking Harry's hair with icy fingers, his breath smelling faintly of ink and old cabbage.
"Best be careful, Potty—Sirius Black's about, and he's got a taste for little boys' heads!" Peeves cackled, looping upside down in midair, his eyes glowing like mischievous coals.
Harry glared up at him, his wand already in his hand. "Buzz off, Peeves," he muttered, but the poltergeist only laughed louder.
"Oh, Potty's got a wand! Gonna hex poor little Peevesy—"
"Ventus!" Harry snapped, focusing all his frustration on the spell. A sudden rush of wind blasted Peeves upward and sent him spinning down the corridor like a paper kite.
Peeves howled in surprise, his voice fading as he zipped out of sight. The echoes of his laughter dissolved into the distant darkness. Satisfied, Harry lowered his wand, feeling a flicker of pride at how easily the spell had come to him now.
He quickened his pace, his footsteps echoing against the old stone walls. Every corridor seemed to stretch on forever tonight, as though Hogwarts itself was holding its breath.
When he reached the Great Hall, the sight that greeted him was strangely comforting. The tables had been moved aside, and students gathered in clusters, whispering nervously, their faces pale and uncertain. The enchanted ceiling above still mirrored the night sky, stars twinkling in the darkness.
At the front of the hall, Dumbledore stood, his tall figure radiating calm authority. His long robes shimmered faintly in the candlelight, and his eyes, though tired, held that familiar twinkle.
As Harry entered, Dumbledore's gaze flickered toward him—just for a moment—before he raised his hands for silence.
"Students," he began, his voice carrying easily over the crowd. "Due to the unfortunate events this evening, you will all spend the night here in the Great Hall. Your safety is our highest priority."
With a casual flick of his wand, Dumbledore transformed the tables into rows of sleeping bags, each one unfurling with a soft whoosh and a warm glow of magic. Harry watched, captivated, as the sleeping bags arranged themselves perfectly, like soldiers falling into formation.
A ripple of amazement and relief spread through the hall. Some students even applauded softly, the tension in the room easing just a little.
Dumbledore's gaze softened as he continued. "I ask that you remain calm. Professors will be on hand to assist you, and no one is to leave the Great Hall until morning."
He paused, his eyes twinkling—though Harry thought he saw something darker in the lines around them. "I trust you will all cooperate—and I thank you for your patience and understanding."
Harry made his way toward Hermione and Ron, who were already standing near the front. Hermione was hugging her pillow to her chest, her eyes red-rimmed, while Ron wore a worried frown that deepened when he saw Harry.
Harry dropped down beside them, feeling the weight of the day settle on his shoulders. It seemed like ages since he'd been able to relax.
Ron nudged him. "You alright, mate?"
Harry nodded absently, though his thoughts were already miles away. He kept glancing toward Dumbledore. Watching Dumbledore transfigure tables into sleeping bags with a single flick of his wand—it wasn't just magic. It was mastery. Power. The kind of magic that didn't just react but reshaped the world.
That's the kind of mastery I need to reach, Harry thought. Not just the spells they taught in Defense, but real power. The kind that would let him change the outcome of a war.
"Harry," Hermione said softly, leaning in. "We were so worried. After you left Gryffindor Tower—after Sirius Black's break-in—everyone was in a panic."
She shivered a little, her voice trembling as she clutched her pillow tighter. "The Fat Lady was so frightened she refused to come back to her portrait. She said Sirius Black slashed it—nearly destroyed it—and she wouldn't let anyone in or out. We had to sleep in the corridors until Dumbledore found her another painting to hide in."
"McGonagall was furious," Ron added. "She practically bit our heads off for asking questions. Everyone was on edge—nobody could talk about anything else."
Hermione's eyes glistened. "And we didn't know where you'd gone, Harry. We thought… well, we thought maybe you'd run after Black or—or worse. I was so scared he'd found you."
He looked between his friends, their worry etched into every line of their faces. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I just needed some time to think. I didn't mean to worry you."
Ron gave a half-hearted shrug. "Yeah, well—next time, maybe think somewhere we can keep an eye on you," he muttered, though his voice was gentle.
Hermione smiled weakly, wiping at her eyes. "We're just glad you're alright. Really."
As the Great Hall dimmed, the candlelight flickering to embers and the shadows deepening, Harry settled into his sleeping bag. Around him, the murmurs of students faded into a hush, broken only by the occasional creak of the castle and the soft snoring of his classmates.
But sleep wouldn't come. His mind churned with plans and questions, each more urgent than the last. Every thought seemed to circle back to one name: Pettigrew.
Peter Pettigrew.
The coward who had betrayed Harry's parents. The man who'd framed Sirius. The one who would help Voldemort return.
Harry's jaw tightened, his fists clenching around the edge of his blanket. He couldn't risk Pettigrew slipping away again. Every hour that passed was another chance for Wormtail to vanish into the shadows, to find allies who could hide him or kill to protect him.
He stared up at the enchanted ceiling, tracing the cold, distant stars with his eyes. He didn't have time to waste. He had to find Pettigrew—and soon. Before it was too late.