“Move, now,” said Linus Sunwood.
Knowing they were far from safe, he took the lead and motioned for the others to follow.
“You were tricked by Malfoy,” Hermione said, tugging on Linus’s robes as she addressed Harry and Ron.
“He never had any intention of dueling you.
He just wanted Filch to catch you!”
Harry and Ron thought Hermione had a point, but there was no way they were going to admit it right now.
They simply followed Linus in silence.
The door to an empty classroom suddenly swung open, and Peeves zoomed out, shrieking as he charged toward the four of them.
“Naughty little students, out of bed at night!
Tsk, tsk, tsk!
Catch you all, catch you all!
Nasty little brats, stupid little brats!”
“Please, stop talking,” Harry begged, pressing his hands together in plea.
“I ought to tell Filch there are students wandering the Charms corridor at night!” Peeves cackled repeatedly.
“I’d be doing you a favor!”
Quick on his feet, Linus caught Ron’s hand before he could strike out at Peeves, preventing him from thoroughly infuriating the poltergeist.
Leading the three around Peeves, Linus said, “Goodbye, Peeves.”
Strangely enough, even as the four disappeared down the end of the corridor, Peeves did not start screeching after them.
“What’s this?” Ron gasped.
Linus realized that the door at the far end of the fourth-floor corridor had somehow swung open.
Harry was about to say something when Mrs.
Norris’s footsteps echoed from around the corner.
He hurriedly rushed through the doorway along with Hermione and Ron.
Linus let out a soft sigh and followed them inside, pulling the door shut behind him.
Mrs.
Norris and Filch, who was patrolling nearby, detected nothing out of the ordinary and moved on.
Pressed against the door listening to the sounds outside, Harry finally breathed a sigh of relief.
He turned around, only to see Ron pressed flat against the wall next to the door, mouth agape in utter terror.
Harry followed Ron’s gaze.
A three-headed beast, taking up half the room, was staring down at them with eyes as thick as stone pillars.
Hot steam billowed from its nostrils, and drool dripped from its jaws, nearly pooling on the floor.
No longer caring about the threat of Filch, the trio yanked the door open and sprinted frantically toward Gryffindor Tower.
Not screaming at the top of their lungs was the ultimate courtesy they extended to Filch.
Linus trailed behind.
He took a careful look at the three-headed dog in front of him and offered it a gentlemanly bow.
The giant dog gave a loud snort, blowing steam across Linus’s face, seemingly in a gesture of friendliness.
Linus glanced toward the corner where Albus Dumbledore stood concealed.
*I hope this door was designed to only open from the outside,* Linus thought.
The moment he returned to Gryffindor Tower, Linus heard Hermione arguing with Ron.
“Because of your recklessness, we were almost mauled to death in that room!”
Seeing Linus return safe and sound, Hermione seemed to relax a bit, but having made up her mind not to speak to him today, she merely huffed and retreated to her room.
“Baffling,” Ron muttered.
Linus patted Ron and Harry on the shoulders.
“Go back to sleep.
It’s late.”
The next morning, Hermione had still intended to ignore Linus, but during breakfast he sat right down beside her, heaped her plate with savory meat-stuffed potato patties, and personally poured her a full glass of milk.
Settling beside her, he spoke up, “Don’t be mad anymore, Hermione.”
“How did you know I like savory meat-stuffed potato patties?” Hermione couldn’t help asking.
“I’m very observant,” Linus replied cheerfully.
Just as children bicker for no good reason, they also make up for no good reason.
Perhaps long in the future, neither would remember what the argument had been about, but Hermione would remember that Linus knew she loved savory meat-stuffed potato patties.
Nearby, Harry and Ron were having a heated, hushed discussion about what the room with the three-headed dog was guarding.
Harry had originally wanted to involve Linus in the conversation, but Ron took one look at Hermione sitting beside Linus and talked him out of it.
What followed was the usual routine: classes, the library, and practical spellwork in the Room of Requirement on the eighth floor.
Through an eighth-floor window, Linus would occasionally spot Harry out on the Quidditch pitch, practicing with the team on his new broomstick.
Harry flew brilliantly—better than anyone else on the team—though winning a match was about more than just flying skills.
“Why don’t you play practice matches?” Linus asked Harry curiously one evening.
Harry blinked, startled.
“Don’t we already train several days a week?”
“No, I don’t mean internal drills,” Linus explained.
“I mean inter-house scrimmages that simulate real matches.”
“I…
I didn’t know.
Nobody told me we could train like that,” Harry said, flustered.
“Brilliant idea,” said George—or perhaps Fred—draping an arm over Harry and Linus’s shoulders.
“Oliver Wood will definitely go along with a suggestion from top of the class.”
The other twin chimed in, “Though that’ll have to wait until after our secret weapon makes his debut.”
“I’m not top of the class yet.
We haven’t even taken the end-of-year exams!” Linus said modestly.
“What difference does that make?
By now, strange urban legends were circulating among the upper years at Hogwarts about someone eating dinner while hunkered down right outside the library doors.
It had driven the upperclassmen preparing for their O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s into a sheer panic, making them sprint to the library like mad.
Linus shook his head.
Glancing at Hermione, who was eavesdropping with her ears perked nearby, he added, “My marks in Herbology and Potions aren’t all that impressive.”
Ron groaned dramatically from the side.
“If a student like you—who can recite *One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi* backward—is doing ‘not that impressive,’ what does that make the rest of us?”
“*One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi*?
What’s that?” Crabbe asked in confusion as he passed by.
Goyle, gnawing on a chicken leg, replied, “Who knows?”
Satisfied, Hermione cleared her plate and headed off to the library to study even harder.
Outside the Room of Requirement on the eighth floor, Linus was intercepted by someone unexpected: the current headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore.
“Professor, don’t you have work of your own to attend to?” Linus asked, feeling a touch impatient as he looked at Dumbledore blocking his way.
In a moment, his schedule for his daily magic depletion training would be completely thrown off.
“I believe helping lost young wizards find their proper path is my most important duty,” Dumbledore replied with a gentle smile.
“Professor, I know precisely what I am doing, and I thoroughly enjoy my current life,” Linus explained earnestly.
“The last time I went to the library, it wasn’t to borrow books.
I went specifically to see you,” Dumbledore said, abruptly switching topics.
“I know, Professor.”
“Even back then, I felt you were pushing yourself too hard—that you were wound entirely too tight.
A first-year young wizard shouldn’t have an enemy so formidable as to require endless spell training to face,” Dumbledore paused.
“Unless your imaginary enemy truly is me.”
Before Linus could speak, Dumbledore continued, “And if you truly wish to defeat me, forgive me for sounding boastful, but even if you maintain your current extraordinary rate of progress for seven years, you still may not beat me.”
Linus glanced at the system panel in the upper-right corner of his vision: [Charms Lv5: 500/1,000,000].
Undeterred, he looked at the tall old man in grey robes, wondering: *What level is he?
Lv9?
Or an even higher legendary wizard?
If a Gold Talent takes seven years, then a Red Talent would only take three and a half.
The advantage is still mine.*
Dumbledore continued, “A young wizard’s life shouldn’t revolve solely around combat.
Go learn some Potions and Herbology.
Take a look in Professor Sprout’s greenhouses and Snape’s dungeon lab.
I’m sure they would be delighted to see fresh blood joining their work.”
“Professor, is your daily job eavesdropping on students’ casual chatter at the dinner table?” Linus grit his teeth and asked.
“Not entirely,” Dumbledore gave a playful wink, then added to Linus, “To give you a small bit of motivation: if neither Professor Sprout nor Professor Snape informs me this week that you have attended extra-curricular studies with them, the Room of Requirement will no longer open for you for the remainder of this year.”
“Why, Professor?” Linus called after Dumbledore’s receding back.
“Because I truly hope the newcomer I value most can take top marks across all subjects in his first year,” Dumbledore looked back, smiling warmly at Linus.
“Save those words for Harry,” Linus said with a shake of his head, stepping through the doorway into the Room of Requirement.