Three-headed Dog

"Where have we run to?" Flag asked, bent over, gasping for breath and trembling with terror.

"The fourth floor, near the Charms classroom," Allen replied calmly. Although he had been sprinting as well, his physical fitness was far superior, and he wasn't worried about being caught.

"I think we've shaken him off," Harry said, panting. He leaned against the cold wall, wiping sweat from his forehead.

"I—told—you," Hermione said, gasping for air, her hand clutching the front of her robes. "I—told—you."

"We have to get back to the Gryffindor common room," Ron said. "As fast as we can."

"Malfoy tricked you," Hermione said to Harry. "Don't you see? He never intended to meet you there—Filch knew someone was going to the Trophy Room; Malfoy must have tipped him off."

Harry had to admit Hermione was right, but he didn't want to say anything at that moment.

"Despicable Malfoy, I'll make him pay tomorrow." Flag's face was flushed red. No one had ever played him like this before; even Dudley seemed adorable compared to Malfoy.

"Naughty, naughty, wandering around in the middle of the night. Tsk, tsk, tsk, you're going to get caught." Peeves cackled gleefully, his voice echoing through the corridor.

"Go!" Allen stopped Hermione, who was about to plead with the poltergeist, grabbed her, and ran forward.

"Students out of bed!" Peeves roared. "Students out of bed, in the Charms corridor!"

They could almost hear Filch's footsteps. Ignoring the need for stealth, they scrambled forward desperately until they reached the end of the corridor.

"The door is locked..." Ron whimpered in despair. Flag pushed against the door with all his might, hoping to force it open.

"Move." Allen pulled Flag aside, drew his wand, tapped the lock, and whispered, "Alohomora." The lock clicked, and the door swung open. They crowded inside, quickly shut the door, and pressed their ears against it, listening.

Peeves was true to his nature and never did anything helpful; he ignored Filch's demands. Filch stomped his feet in anger, but eventually, he had no choice but to leave.

"We should be safe now," Harry let out a long breath, sliding down the door to sit on the floor.

"A—A—Allen, Allen..." Flag's teeth chattered, his whole body trembling as he tugged at Allen's sleeve.

"Ah!" Hermione let out a thin, short, but quiet scream. When people are pushed to the absolute limit of fear, they often lose the ability to make a sound.

What a sight it was—a nightmare could hardly describe it. A Three-headed Dog, as if straight from hell, stood right before them.

They were staring into the eyes of a monstrous dog, so large it filled the space from floor to ceiling. It had three heads, three pairs of rolling, vicious eyes, and three noses—twitching and trembling in their direction—along with three drooling mouths, with saliva hanging like sticky ropes from its yellowed fangs.

It stood perfectly still, all six eyes fixed upon them.

Allen knew that music could lull this ferocious beast to sleep, and he also knew that beneath the Three-headed Dog lay the trapdoor leading to the Sorcerer's Stone. However, he believed this was Dumbledore's test for Harry, and there was no need to interfere now; otherwise, Dumbledore could have simply destroyed the stone instead of going to such lengths to protect it.

With a click, Hermione turned the doorknob and opened the door. They scrambled out, and fortunately, the Three-headed Dog was chained, leaving it to roar madly behind them.

The four of them ran for their lives, not stopping until they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady on the eighth floor.

"Where's Allen? Did you see where Allen went?" Harry suddenly asked. They looked at each other, unable to say when Allen had disappeared.

"Don't worry, I'm sure he was still with us when we left the fourth floor. With his skills, he'll never be caught." Flag grabbed Harry, who was about to turn back to look for him.

Setting aside the subsequent discussions and arguments among the group, and ignoring their unhappy parting, where had our Allen gone?

Allen knew there would be no more trouble for them tonight. Having seen the mighty Three-headed Dog, he suddenly developed a great interest in magical creatures. "After completing the system's tasks, I must study these strange creatures properly." Watching Harry and the others safely reach the Gryffindor common room, Allen encouraged himself.

He returned to Ravenclaw Tower smoothly. On the way, Allen saw Filch patrolling. "Damn it, to think I didn't catch Potter. Damn Peeves, not telling me where they were hiding, and now I have so many suits of armor to reset!"

Watching the hunched back of the little old man, who could only use Muggle tools to clean a magical castle, Allen actually felt a bit of pity for him.

A man who longed for magic but was a born Squib—that was truly a tragedy. Perhaps it would be better if he knew nothing at all! Harry's aunt, Petunia, was the same. The distortion of human nature must have a root cause; Filch's harshness toward the young wizards stemmed from nothing but jealousy. Notice how he never dared to act that way toward the professors; whenever he encountered one, he would shrink away, like when Professor McGonagall scolded him with "Fool, sure!" and he shut his mouth, not daring to say another word.

Thinking of this, Allen walked back to the Trophy Room. "Reparo." His wand emitted a gentle orange glow, and the scattered armor instantly returned to its place, the broken spears mending themselves without a trace of damage.

"Truly perfect, child. Not just your magic, but your character as well." An aged voice came from behind Allen.

I knew you wouldn't let Harry wander the castle freely; everything is under your control, isn't it, Dumbledore? Allen thought to himself.

"Good evening, Professor." Allen didn't show the slightest bit of nervousness at being caught red-handed, greeting him naturally.

"Good evening, child. What a marvelous garment! If I hadn't learned of your little mischief tonight, I wouldn't have had the chance to see such a wonderful piece." Dumbledore adjusted his half-moon spectacles, his sharp, bright, azure eyes behind the lenses possessing a piercing quality.

"Yes, Professor, it is indeed marvelous; it is a treasure of mine." Allen didn't hide it. In the wizarding world, invisibility cloaks were not unheard of, though Harry's, which offered permanent invisibility without time limits, was the most precious.

"Compared to your magical garment, your actions are even more admirable. Helping the weak without losing a sense of compassion—that is a rare quality."

Without a doubt, Professor Dumbledore was a man of immense talent, keen insight, and wisdom; he had seen right through Allen's motives.