As night fell, the weather turned slightly cooler, even within the confines of Hogwarts Castle, a touch of coldness permeated, giving an unmistakable sense of the onset of autumn.
The portraits on the corridor walls dozed off, conversed in hushed tones with their neighbors, and some seemed to have ventured out, leaving only the backgrounds in the paintings.
On the eighth floor, within the Gryffindor common room, the students had already retired to their dormitories for sleep. Only the dying embers in the fireplace flickered with a faint red light, casting a subdued glow throughout the room.
Just as Harry and Ron tiptoed past an armchair, they suddenly heard voices.
"I can't believe you did that, Harry."
A lamp flickered to life, revealing Hermione Granger. She was clad in a pink nightrobe, her brow furrowed as she regarded them.
She seemed to be in a rather foul mood.
"You!" Ron exclaimed in frustration. "Go back to sleep!"
"I almost told your brother," Hermione retorted unapologetically. "Percy—he's a prefect, and he would have put a stop to all of this."
Harry couldn't fathom the interference of such a busybody.
"Let's go," he told Ron. Pushing the portrait of the Fat Lady, they crawled into the passage.
Hermione, however, wasn't ready to relent. She followed Ron into the passage, lowering her voice like an irate mother goose scolding her goslings.
"Don't you care about Gryffindor? Do you only care about yourself? I don't want Slytherin to win the House Cup again, and I don't want you to squander the points I helped you get from Professor McGonagall with that Transfiguration spell!"
"Move aside," Ron said impatiently.
"Fine, but mark my words, when you're on the train home tomorrow, don't forget what I said. You're really too—" As Hermione spoke, she turned toward the portrait of the Fat Lady, intending to slip back in, only to find the canvas empty.
The Fat Lady had apparently taken the opportunity to go out gallivanting in the middle of the night.
"Oh—now what do I do?" she grumbled, her frustration evident.
"That's your problem," Ron remarked. "We need to go; we're about to be late."
But before they could reach the end of the corridor, Hermione caught up with them.
"I'm coming with you!" she said, looking thoroughly unwilling.
"You're not allowed to go," Ron immediately protested.
"As if I want to go! If I don't, am I supposed to stand here waiting for Filch to catch me? If he finds out—"
"—then let's all go together."
While Hermione continued to voice her concerns, a voice suddenly emerged from the shadowed corner of the corridor, startling everyone present.
"Maca! And Nav?" The three of them squinted their eyes in unison, finally recognizing who it was.
Maca, however, paid no mind to the trio. Instead, he quickly covered Nav's mouth, who had been startled into making a sound.
"What are you panicking for? I've been by your side the whole time," Maca whispered.
"I... I thought it was Filch's voice," Nav weakly explained after Maca released his mouth.
"Why are you two here?" Ron asked, curious.
"Nav forgot the password to the common room," Maca shrugged. "As for me, I decided to come out for a little relaxation, stretch my legs."
"You know, I've been focused on my studies, but it's time for a break. Too much inactivity is not good; the body will rust."
"Breaking the rules, Maca?!" Hermione's eyes widened in shock upon hearing this, displaying profound disbelief at Maca's words.
Maca grinned teasingly at her and said, "Hermione, aren't you planning to go with us?"
"That's because—"
"Alright, alright, don't take it too seriously. Harry and Ron have already made up their minds to go, and as your friends, I naturally share in your joys and sorrows." Maca patted Hermione's shoulder, and in her pajamas, she looked rather delicate and cute.
"Oh, you need to stay warm; it's already autumn, and nights can be chilly." He took off his own house robe and draped it lightly over Hermione.
"Um, thank you," Hermione looked at the robe on her shoulders and swallowed her initial complaint.
"Indeed, still a child, not even a hint of blushing." Maca watched Hermione, who had now turned her attention toward Ron and Harry, seemingly ready to give them a lecture, and found it quite amusing.
Ron glanced at his watch, then shot Hermione an irritated look before turning and adopting a cheerful expression. "It'd be even better if you could come along, Maca. You always manage to keep Fred and George out of Mum's sight. Perhaps you can help us dodge Filch... Oh, right, and his blasted cat!"
Maca, hearing this, simply shrugged. "Hoodwinking Filch is a piece of cake, but avoiding Mrs. Norris is another story. Animals have a keen sense, especially those in the cat family."
With that, he suddenly retrieved a small glass bottle from his pocket, flashing a smile.
"Of course, there's always a way."
"I knew it! You always have all sorts of tricks up your sleeve!" Ron looked at Hermione with a smug expression, as if boasting about having a resourceful friend.
Hermione opened her mouth but remained silent after glancing at Maca.
They strolled briskly along the corridor, moonlight streaming in through high windows, casting bands of light that lay on the ground like a unique magical carpet.
At each turn, Harry thought they might run into Filch or Mrs. Norris. Fortunately, whether due to their luck or some means employed by Maca, everything went smoothly as they hurried down the stairs to the third floor and discreetly entered the Trophy Room.
There was no sign of Malfoy or Crabbe.
The crystal glass cabinets that displayed the trophies glimmered in the moonlight streaming in from outside. In the darkness, the cups, shields, medals, and statues sparkled with silvery and golden hues, ribbons fluttering without any breeze.
Maca curiously examined the plaques under the awards, each detailing the reasons for their respective wins. At this moment, he was pondering if he should also earn himself an award to facilitate his studies and research.
The other four weren't as relaxed. They hugged the walls and advanced, their eyes fixed on the doors at both ends of the room. Harry pulled out his wand, prepared for a duel in case Malfoy burst in to confront him.
Time passed, second by second, yet no one appeared.
"He's late; maybe he's too scared to come," Ron whispered, but the room next door suddenly echoed with a sound, making them jump.
Harry had just raised his wand when he heard a voice—it wasn't Malfoy.
"Smell around, darling. They might be hiding in some corner." It was Filch speaking to Mrs. Norris.
Harry was utterly terrified, frantically waving his wand at the others, urging them to follow him quickly. To his surprise, Maca wore a wicked grin as he walked closer to the side closer to Filch; they were now separated by merely a door.
Amidst the others' alarmed gazes, Maca once again produced his small bottle. After a brief, breath-holding gesture, he carefully twisted open the cap without making a sound.
"Oh, sweetheart! Where are you going?" Just outside the door, Filch exclaimed in surprise, then hastily chased after Mrs. Norris, who had dashed away inexplicably.
"Brilliant! What potion is that?" Ron approached, visibly impressed, then immediately sneezed. "Oh—what's that smell?"
Maca quickly stuffed the cork back into the vial, then took a couple of steps back, sighing with relief.
"It's not a potion; just a slightly volatile concoction. It has a strong, pungent odor that works well against animals with keen senses."
"Is it the secretion of a Grindylow?" Hermione also took a whiff of the lingering scent in the air, covering her nose involuntarily.
"It's not just that; it requires adjusting the neutralizing formula. Otherwise, the smell lingers for days." Maca chuckled. "The scent is too intense, and it leaves behind evidence."
"So, you planned to break the rules from the start?" Hermione finally couldn't hold back her irritation. "You can't do this; you Hufflepuffs are already trailing in points."
"I don't care about the House Cup. Honor isn't everything," Maca continued to grin. "And besides, there has to be one House at the bottom. I think that suits Hufflepuff's low-key ethos quite well."
"You can't be like this!" Hermione seemed genuinely displeased with Maca's mindset.
Suddenly, Maca gestured for Hermione to stop speaking.
"Someone's coming back; it's Filch," he tilted his head, listening carefully, then whispered softly.
"Oh, how about using that bottle again?" Ron blurted out instinctively.
"I think we'd better run!" Maca shook his head, leading the way as he sprinted down the dark corridor.
They rounded pillars, sprinted down one corridor after another. In this dim environment, Maca felt his sense of direction deteriorating—it was hard for him to tell where he was.
"We've reached the Charms classroom," Hermione panted, looking at the nearby door, her breath heavy.
"I think we've lost him," Harry gasped. He leaned against the cold wall, wiping the sweat from his forehead. Nav bent over, breathing heavily, gasping for air.
"I think you all need more exercise," Maca's breathing became slightly heavier from the sprint. As a teenager who lived in the lower echelons of society, a few steps of running certainly wouldn't incapacitate him.
"I—told—you," Hermione panted heavily, clutching her chest, her speech intermittent. "I—told you."
"We must return to the Gryffindor Tower," Ron said, "the sooner, the better."