Archer always felt that Plant Poison and Hermione were destined to cause trouble.
He suddenly realized that being able to reach the trophy room on the third floor safely might truly have been a blessing from Merlin himself.
Finally, the group arrived without incident.
The trophy room was eerily quiet, showing no signs of anyone having been there.
"That's strange," Ron said, stopping in front of a shelf full of old trophies. He turned to Archer, who looked equally puzzled. "There's no one here."
"Stay sharp. Malfoy could be nearby," Archer warned. He kept his wand at the ready, eyes scanning the shadows around the room.
They searched for a few minutes but found no trace of anyone.
"Could you have been tricked?" Hermione asked, her tone uneasy. "Malfoy might have lured you here on purpose. This could be a setup..."
Her gaze flicked around nervously, clearly expecting Professor McGonagall to leap out from behind a suit of armor.
Archer froze. Hermione's words struck him—this had to be a trap.
Malfoy had chosen the timing too well. It couldn't be a coincidence.
Just as that realization hit him, they heard hurried footsteps echoing from the corridor.
Everyone froze.
"Where are you, you little rascals..."
That unmistakable voice—Filch.
And from the sounds of it, he was heading straight for the trophy room.
Archer's suspicions were confirmed. Malfoy had set them up and tipped off Filch.
Without wasting a second, the group bolted through the back door of the trophy room.
"Hurry, hurry!" Archer urged, leading the way.
They sprinted through the castle's dark corridors, taking random turns in a desperate attempt to lose Filch.
Eventually, they stumbled into an abandoned classroom and leaned against the walls, panting heavily.
Hermione dropped to the floor, drenched in sweat. "My legs are jelly... If we got caught, that's four people! Four sets of points deducted! I told you not to do this..."
It was probably the tenth time she'd said it that night.
"That scumbag Malfoy," Ron growled, punching his fist into his palm. "When I see him tomorrow, I'll—"
"You should have listened to me earlier," Hermione cut in sharply.
After catching their breath, they assessed their surroundings—a dusty old classroom filled with broken desks and forgotten magical artifacts.
"I'm done," Plant Poison groaned, flopping onto a half-shattered table.
Archer had completely forgotten about the duel with Malfoy. Survival was now their only priority. They had to avoid Filch and his demonic cat and somehow return to the Gryffindor common room.
Navigating the castle at night was like traversing a living labyrinth. The halls twisted unpredictably, and every corridor looked the same.
They eventually reached a staircase that split up and down.
"Are you sure this is the right way?" Ron asked, glancing at Archer with uncertainty. "I don't recognize this at all. Are we lost?"
Archer didn't want to admit it, but he had to.
They were absolutely lost.
If only he'd brought a map of the school.
Just then, a strange voice floated in from a side corridor.
"Hello—how are you? Is anyone there? Doesn't matter if you're not a person..."
Everyone exchanged a look.
"That's not Filch," Ron whispered. "Should we check it out?"
There's something about a group of Gryffindors—they're brave to a fault when together.
Creeping toward the voice, they peeked around the corner—and froze.
There, suspended from the ceiling like some strange chandelier, was Peeves.
He was tied up, hanging upside down and spinning gently. His expression was blank, as though he'd just undergone some horrendous torture.
"Peeves? What happened to you?" Ron couldn't help but laugh. "Did someone finally shut you up?"
Just two days ago, Peeves had sabotaged their Potions class. Seeing him in this state was oddly satisfying.
Archer studied the magical ropes binding Peeves. Something about them felt familiar—he'd seen this spell before. It was the handiwork of a professor.
When Ron mocked him, Peeves's glassy eyes suddenly widened. He jerked and flailed, shrieking, "I didn't do anything! I was just floating by! Then—bam! He tied me up and left me here for hours!"
Hermione glanced around, clearly worried. "We can't linger here. If Peeves keeps yelling, we're doomed."
As the others turned to go, Peeves panicked.
"Wait! Don't go! Let me down and I'll tell you a secret!"
"What secret?" Plant Poison asked weakly.
"Don't listen to him," Archer warned, dragging Plant Poison away.
"Okay..."
"Hey—HEY! Don't leave me here!"
But they ignored him and were about to leave when—snap—the ropes vanished.
The spell had worn off.
Peeves hit the floor with a "thump," bounced like jelly, then floated up, cackling with glee.
"FREE! At last!" He spun midair, laughing maniacally. "You dared ignore the great Peeves?! You're going to pay for that!"
His wail echoed through the halls like a banshee's screech. Archer instinctively clutched his ears.
Filch would hear this for sure. Maybe even everyone would.
"RUN!" Archer shouted.
The group bolted again.
They dashed through endless corridors and staircases, adrenaline fueling every step.
When they finally stopped, they collapsed beside an old suit of armor, gasping for breath.
But luck was not on their side.
A light flickered around the nearby corner.
They heard the soft rattle of a lantern... and the unmistakable, soul-crushing footsteps of Filch.
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