Peeves wasn’t a good spirit—Harry had known that for quite some time. This ghost delighted in mischief, especially in going against others.
“Familiar face? You have no acquaintances here!” Percy retorted angrily. “They’re just first-years—”
“Really?” Peeves floated leisurely over to Harry, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Potter, not going to greet an old friend?”
“Peeves!” Percy barked in warning. “Harry is just a first-year student. Don’t bother him!”
“A first-year?” Peeves cackled as if Percy had told the funniest joke. Holding his stomach, he doubled over in midair with laughter. “Oh, I could never forget that face—Potter…”
“You must’ve known my father, James,” Harry said casually, pulling out his wand.
“You don’t think spells will work on Peeves, do you?” Percy asked in surprise. “Honestly, people have been trying to find a spell to deal with Peeves for years, but as you can see—so far, no success.”
To Percy’s astonishment, Peeves screamed and bolted the moment Harry pointed his wand at him.
“Maybe it does work,” Harry shrugged.
Percy opened his mouth, suddenly finding the atmosphere a bit awkward.
“Maybe he had other things to do,” Percy offered weakly. “Anyway, if you encounter Peeves again, don’t provoke him. Honestly, you should be on your guard around him.”
He led the group forward. “Don’t try Harry’s method. I recommend invoking the Bloody Baron’s name to scare him off. The Bloody Baron is the only one who can keep him in line; Peeves doesn’t even listen to us prefects. Oh—here we are.”
At the end of the corridor hung a portrait of a plump woman dressed in pink.
“Password?” she asked in a smooth voice.
“Dragon dung,” Percy replied.
The portrait swung forward to reveal a circular hole in the wall.
One by one, they crawled through. Neville struggled a bit, requiring some help to squeeze through.
On the other side of the hole, they found themselves in the Gryffindor common room. It was a cozy circular room filled with plush armchairs. Gold and red decor adorned the walls, showcasing Gryffindor’s signature colors.
Percy began assigning rooms. “Those whose names I call will be sharing a room: Ron Weasley, Harry Potter, Neville Longbottom, and Seamus Finnigan.”
The four of them exchanged glances but didn’t raise any objections.
After dividing the boys' and girls’ dormitories, Percy added a stern reminder: “School rules strictly forbid boys from entering the girls’ dormitory.”
“What about girls in the boys’ dormitory?” Seamus called out. “No rule about that?”
“Unfortunately, no,” Percy admitted reluctantly.
Fred and George chimed in from the back, “Isn’t it obvious? It’s at your own risk!”
Percy responded by smacking them with a book, sending the twins laughing and scampering away from the common room.
“Let’s head upstairs,” Neville suggested, still clutching his toad.
“Aren’t you afraid you’ll overheat it?” Seamus teased. “You’ve been holding that thing all day.”
“I’m more afraid of losing him,” Neville admitted. “I searched for him all over the train earlier. Oh—”
In their dormitory, Neville safely tucked his toad away, while Seamus began sharing his story.
“I’m half-and-half,” Seamus said, swinging one leg over the bed. “Dad’s a Muggle, and Mum only told him she was a witch after they got married—scared the life out of him.”
The others laughed. Harry rubbed his eyes. “Muggles not believing in magic isn’t surprising. My uncle, for example, is completely against it. Even if I performed magic in front of him, he’d refuse to accept it.”
“He’s lying to himself,” Seamus remarked, crossing his arms. “What about you, Neville?”
“I was raised by my gran,” Neville said, looking a bit downcast. “She’s a witch, and my parents were both wizards. But they’re… sick. They’ve been in St. Mungo’s as long as I can remember.”
“My family thought I was a Squib for years,” Neville added. “My great-uncle Algie was always trying to force me to show signs of magic—once, he even pushed me off the Black Lake dock. Nearly drowned me, and nothing happened.”
“Then, when I was eight, he dangled me out a window by my ankle. He let go to grab some cake my aunt offered, and I bounced—flew across the garden and landed on the road. Everyone was overjoyed. Aunt Enid even cried from happiness.”
“When my Hogwarts letter arrived, you should’ve seen their faces! They thought I didn’t have enough magic to get in. Uncle Algie was so pleased he bought me this toad.”
Neville spilled his tales like beans from a jar, and after hearing them, Harry began to suspect that maybe the wizarding world hadn’t come to rescue him sooner because of stories like Neville’s.
Look at Neville—his own great-uncle had tossed him into a lake and dropped him from a window!
“What illness do your parents have?” Seamus asked gently.
“They were tortured with the Cruciatus Curse,” Neville said quietly. “They never woke up.”
“Sorry, Neville,” Seamus said, clearly not expecting to stumble upon such a sad truth.
Harry had learned it before, even used it with Sebastian. On Ominis too.
The memory of using such a curse wasn’t pleasant—it tortured not just the victim but the caster’s soul as well.
“Ah, I just remembered!” Ron suddenly exclaimed, then stopped himself, realizing naming Neville’s parents would only cause more pain. He quickly changed the topic, saying to Harry, “Harry, I think you’ve got some snacks in your bag…”
“Oh, right,” Harry said, glad for the distraction. He pulled his suitcase out from under his bed. “I brought some Muggle snacks. Want to try them?”
He needed the diversion just as much as Ron did—memories of the Cruciatus Curse weren’t ones he enjoyed revisiting.
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