After dinner, the three of them didn't want to sit in the common room and wait until everyone drifted off before acting. Since Harry hadn't lost Gryffindor a pile of points like in the original timeline—and hadn't been shunned—no sooner had the three sat down than a crowd gathered to fuss over him. Sensing trouble, Neville yanked the other two back to the dorm by force, and only then did the onlookers disperse.
In the dorm, the only person to worry about was their roommate Seamus. As for Loren, Neville guessed he wouldn't be coming back tonight. Neville slipped an alchemical pillowcase over Seamus's pillow and set it on Seamus's bed, then the three lay down and waited for the dead of night.
By eleven o'clock, every student had returned to their rooms. The trio put on the gear Loren had given them, slipped through the portrait hole behind the Fat Lady, and set off.
It didn't take them long to reach the corridor on the third floor—credit to Loren's kit. He'd made it for night excursions: nothing fancy, but practical—everything to boost concealment and movement speed.
Outside the corridor, they saw the door was already cracked open. Nothing stirred beyond it.
"Snape may have already got past Fluffy," Harry whispered, leading the way.
At the half-open door, nerves caught him. He glanced back. "If either of you wants to back out—"
"What are you on about? I made this plan—I'm not quitting now," Ron said, clapping Harry on the shoulder. There was real confidence in his voice, nothing like his usual hesitation. Harry looked at him with new respect.
Neville didn't speak. He stepped forward and set his hand on the door. At Harry's word, he would push.
Seeing the faint shimmer of distorted air at the threshold, Harry felt a sudden rush of emotion. He stepped up too, put his hand to the wood, and pressed. The door swung inward.
The Invisibility Cloak hid them optically, but not their scent. Fluffy had smelled them long ago; only Hagrid's scent on their clothes kept the dog from barking. It gave low warning growls instead.
The sight of the huge hound coiled to spring made them jump. Neville quickly opened the music box they'd prepared. A tune spilled out.
With the music, Fluffy's barking stopped. It swayed, blinked drowsily, legs went soft—and it collapsed into deep sleep.
"Pointed wands and broomsticks fly, all you wizards gathered nigh—listen well as I sing…" The music box shifted into a language they didn't recognize. The three ignored it, held their breath against the dog's hot breath, took one look at the black trapdoor, and jumped. Neville first, then Harry and Ron.
As soon as they dropped out of sight, only Fluffy's snores and the music box's song remained in the room.
In the Room of Requirement, Hermione shot Loren a peculiar look. She knew Chinese—she'd picked it up because Loren once talked about traveling in the Middle Kingdom—so she could understand the lyrics. Since the music box came from Loren, the song had to be his selection. Her intuition told her this time his target was Dumbledore.
"Does Dumbledore really follow Harry around all the time?" she asked softly.
Using his permissions, Loren sensed clearly that Dumbledore was in that room, hidden by a Disillusionment Charm.
"'In Godric's Hollow, oh the sigh—Albus the fair young wizard's eye…'" The next verse began, and the viewing screen trembled; Dumbledore appeared where the air had rippled.
Hermione was about to study his expression when Loren covered her eyes with his hand.
"Loren?"
"Don't stare directly at the Headmaster, or he'll notice," Loren murmured. "Anyone responds to being watched—especially someone like Dumbledore. We're live-casting this; if you look straight at him, he'll feel it."
Hermione let his hand drop and switched to the other screen showing the trio's progress. Loren, for his part, kept his gaze glued to Dumbledore's face.
The song went on, verse by verse, and Dumbledore's expression shifted.
"'Drums for the lover—chrysanthemum sweet, the red hare snorts at the gate—loose the bow, shoot the halberd—spring turns the phoenix, crackling sugar between the teeth…'" As the quirky verses played, a faint blush crept up beneath Dumbledore's beard.
When the song ended, he seemed to fall into a deep reverie—nostalgia, regret, longing flickering by turns. As the box began a second loop, Dumbledore walked over and closed the lid.
Loren didn't mind; he'd already recorded everything. Once the notebooks went public, an anonymous upload would be… amusing.
Dumbledore turned the box in his hands for a long time, then spoke softly. "Ingenious. But a trifle rude."
On this side of the screen, Loren started and glanced at Hermione—she was still engrossed in Harry Potter and the Midnight Heist. He turned back as Dumbledore addressed the box again.
"Loren, I know you're watching. I won't pursue this prank—consider it your fee for not meddling in Harry's affairs."
After a long moment, Loren's voice came from within the music box. "A proper prankster always watches from the wings—that's half the fun. I am a Gryffindor, you know."
Dumbledore winked at the box, a flash of sly triumph at having unmasked the trick.
Since he'd been called out, Loren conceded candidly. It had just been a whim. Besides, he already had the footage—even if he couldn't publish it widely, it would be fine for a private viewing among friends.
Hearing his admission, Dumbledore slipped the music box into his sleeve. He didn't worry about further antics; Loren was proud—he might like mischief, but he kept his own rules.
Dumbledore rubbed his cheeks with both hands and drew a long breath. In moments he was composed again. Whatever effect Loren's prank had had, a century of life hadn't been for nothing. He turned toward Fluffy. Under his gaze, the dog shrank into a corner, whimpering. Dumbledore flicked his wand, renewed his Disillusionment, and vanished.
In the Room of Requirement, Loren shut the screen the moment he'd surrendered. A heartbeat later, he realized he'd been played by the old fox. The prank had failed at the finish line. If he'd just kept silent, Dumbledore would have had no proof—no evidence, no case.
He nearly slapped himself. Had he dropped his guard because the Philosopher's Stone was about to fall into their hands?
He didn't, of course. Outwardly, he turned with Hermione to watch the trio's progress. Inwardly, he was already thinking: later, he'd let Peter make a move—give Dumbledore a sting from the shadows.
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