(Note: In this chapter, we've skipped some of the canonical content...)
Chapter 125: The Three-Headed Dog
"A Seeker?"
Ron had just stuffed a chunk of steak-and-kidney pie into his mouth when he heard the shocking news. He hurriedly swallowed it down, lowered his voice, and said,
"But first-years never— I mean, you've got to be the youngest House team player in years."
"In a century, actually," Harry said, his face lit up with a grin. He'd never expected that things would turn out this way—no punishment at all, and he'd even made the Quidditch team.
Their excitement, however, didn't last long.
An irritating voice cut in.
"Having your last supper, Potter?" Malfoy sneered, malice gleaming in his eyes. "When are you taking the train back to the Muggle world? Back to your dear aunt and uncle?"
---
"You two are really going to duel Malfoy tonight?" Hermione frowned. Even though Wednesday had told her not to meddle, she simply couldn't help herself this time.
"If you're caught wandering the corridors at night, do you know how many points Gryffindor will lose?" she urged, trying her best to talk sense into them.
But boys their age never listened. They brushed her off with a few perfunctory mm-hmms and walked away without a second thought.
---
"What was that thing?" Neville said, shuddering as the image replayed itself in his mind. "Was it… something from hell?"
Panting heavily, they ran toward the common room. Luckily, Filch wasn't nearby—he was probably patrolling somewhere else.
Ron was in the lead. Just as they rounded a corner and charged up the stairs, he suddenly felt as if he'd slammed straight into a wall.
"Ow!" he yelped, rubbing his forehead as he looked up to see what he'd hit.
"Good evening, gentlemen."
To their horror, a headless figure slowly materialized in the air before them.
"AHHH!"
Ron forgot all about the pain. Scrambling up the stairs on all fours, he wailed at the top of his lungs about ghosts.
Harry and Hermione weren't doing much better—they looked like they'd trade anything for a couple of extra legs. As for Neville, he shut his eyes and fainted on the spot.
Youth really was wonderful—out cold in seconds.
"Just a little joke… I didn't expect it to work this well. Guess I went a bit overboard," Russell muttered sheepishly as he dispelled the Disillusionment Charm.
He'd just come back from the Potions classroom, and the progress on the simplified Polyjuice Potion was going fairly well.
Still, there was one thing he couldn't quite figure out.
The wizarding world clearly had real ghosts—so why were they this terrified of him?
Harry and Hermione aside, Ron and Neville really shouldn't have had much of a concept of ghosts in the first place.
Whatever—leaving him lying here wasn't an option.
Russell levitated Neville and was just about to head upstairs when he heard Filch's labored, wheezing footsteps approaching.
They must've made too much noise earlier and drawn him over.
This is troublesome, Russell frowned. He didn't have a permission slip from Snape tonight.
He raised his wand, tapped both himself and Neville, then leaned against the wall, completely still.
"Strange… I was sure I heard something here just now," Filch muttered suspiciously as he paced around the area. No matter how he searched, he found nothing—and eventually left.
When Russell reached the entrance to the Gryffindor common room, the Fat Lady was already asleep. Worse still, he didn't know the password.
That was awkward.
"Wake up, Neville," Russell sighed. After some thought, there was really only one option.
He gently shook Neville awake.
"R-Russell?" Neville shivered. "Why are you here? I just saw something terrifying…"
"You were probably dreaming," Russell said with a smile. "Why would you fall asleep outside the door?"
Seeing how certain Russell seemed, Neville began to doubt his own memory.
"Maybe you're right…" he muttered. "I was locked out because I forgot the password."
"Well…" Russell didn't have the heart to leave him out here, but taking him to the dorms wasn't convenient either. Just as he hesitated, the door suddenly opened and three heads popped out.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione.
When Neville hadn't returned for a long time, they'd worried something had happened and come back to look for him—only to find Neville already at the door, with Russell beside him.
"Russell!" Ron grinned and was about to greet him when Hermione jabbed him sharply in the ribs.
"Don't wake the Fat Lady."
Ron rubbed his chest and nodded miserably.
"Hey," Russell waved casually. "Go on in, Neville. And good night to you all."
He gave them a relaxed farewell and turned to leave.
"Looks like Russell saved you," Harry said with a laugh.
"Oh, please," Hermione rolled her eyes. "Didn't you notice? That so-called 'ghost' was wearing the exact same clothes as Russell. It was obviously him pretending."
"Now that you mention it…" Ron frowned thoughtfully. "Yeah—must've been a Disillusionment Charm."
"A Disillusionment Charm?" Hermione looked shocked. "That's advanced magic, and Russell's only a second-year."
"So what?" Ron lifted his chin. "That's what makes him impressive. Fred and George only learned it this year—and even then, it barely works half the time."
"Over the summer, I kept seeing their heads floating around the house."
"If that's the case, why didn't you realize it earlier?" Hermione asked coolly.
"I—uh—Hermione, didn't you say you were going to bed? Hurry up," Ron snapped irritably.
As for Harry, his suspicions were now all but confirmed—the filthy little bundle taken from the vault had to be hidden beneath the trapdoor.
---
After leaving the Gryffindor common room, Russell didn't return to his dormitory.
He wanted to see what Fluffy actually looked like. If possible, he even considered buying the creature once everything was over—Wednesday would definitely like a big, furry beast like that.
"Hey," Russell murmured as he gently pushed the door open—
—and immediately found himself staring straight into a massive dog's head.
The creature filled the entire room from floor to ceiling.
Three heads.
Six vicious, rolling eyes.
Three twitching noses sniffing violently in his direction.
Three drooling mouths exuded a foul stench, saliva hanging like sticky ropes from yellowed fangs.
Looking at Fluffy, Russell found himself wondering only two things:
How much did this thing eat in a day—and who was brave enough to feed it?
The house-elves in the kitchen definitely didn't have that kind of courage.
"Good night, Fluffy," Russell said politely.
Three-headed dogs really weren't his aesthetic. Without lingering, he turned and left.
Left behind, Fluffy looked a little confused. The three heads exchanged glances, then the massive body flopped back down, resuming its thunderous snoring.
Yeah… best not let Wednesday see this thing.
---
A week later, Harry received a long, narrow package that morning. News of him becoming Gryffindor's Seeker had already spread.
"I want to join the Quidditch team too," Wednesday said, looking at Russell.
Russell's heart skipped a beat. That wasn't something he could decide.
"You could ask Professor Snape for permission," he suggested.
"I know," she replied calmly. "I just want to borrow your broom. Is that alright?"
Her tone was unchanged—but Russell sensed something else beneath it.
"Of course," he said, pulling out the Nimbus 2000 with a faint sigh of nostalgia.
He hadn't ridden it much, and by next year, a newer model would probably be out.
Wait—wasn't this helping the enemy?
No, impossible. Russell shook his head. If Wednesday wanted one, Gomez would definitely buy her the newest broom available.
---
"Professor, I'd like to participate in the Quidditch trials."
Wednesday knocked on Snape's office door.
"Approved," Snape nodded. In Quidditch, Slytherin would not lose to Gryffindor. If Gryffindor could field a first-year, then so could Slytherin.
"But you'll need to pass the trials first," he added, handing Wednesday the textbooks Russell had returned.
She noticed they were identical to the ones Russell had previously given her—but said nothing, quietly accepting them.
---
"I'm sorry, Addams," Flint, the Slytherin captain, said with a fake smile. "We're not lacking Seekers right now."
Wednesday stood holding her broom. Opposite her, the Slytherin players were indifferent, frowning, or wearing thin, insincere smiles.
Especially the current Seeker—his face twisted with resentment. He never imagined a first-year would challenge his position.
"I'm not trying out for Seeker," Wednesday said flatly. "I'm trying out for Beater."
"Beater?" Flint blinked.
He hadn't expected someone so slender to aim for that role.
He broke into a wide grin, gums fully exposed—an ugly sight.
The players burst into laughter, pointing toward several teammates practicing their swings nearby.
"See them, Addams? There's a lot more competition for Beater than for Chaser."
They weren't wrong. Plenty of players enjoyed swinging bats and smashing opponents head-on.
"I see," Wednesday said.
Without wasting another word, she turned and left.
Flint's smile slowly faded.
His hostility toward Wednesday had little to do with her.
It was because of Russell.