Party Police.

Chapter Twenty-Five.

At the foot of the first set of stairs, they spotted Mrs. Norris skulking near the top.

"Oh, let's kick her, just this one," Ron whispered in Harry's ear, but Harry shook his head. As they climbed carefully around her, Mrs. Norris turned her lamplike eyes on them, but didn't do anything."

They didn't meet anyone else until they reached the staircase up to the third floor. Peeves was bobbing halfway up, loosening the carpet so that people would trip.
"Who's there?" he said suddenly as they climbed toward him. He narrowed his wicked black eyes. "Know you're there, even if I can't see you. Are you ghoulie or ghostie or wee student beastie?" He rose up in the air and floated there, squinting at them. "Should call Filch, I should, if something's a-creeping around unseen."

"Harry had a sudden idea. "Peeves," he said in a hoarse whisper, "the Bloody Baron has his own reasons for being invisible." Peeves almost fell out of the air in shock. He caught himself and hovered about a foot off the stairs.

"So sorry, your bloodiness, Mr. Baron, sir," he said greasily. "My mistake, my mistake— I didn't see you— of course I didn't, you're invisible— forgive old Peevsie his little joke, sir."

"I have business here, Peeves," croaked Harry. "Stay away from this place tonight."

"I will, sir, I most certainly will," said Peeves, rising up in the air again. "Hope your business goes well, Baron, I'll not bother you." And he scooted off.

"What was that?" (Y/n) hissed.

"Brilliant, Harry," whispered Ron.

A few seconds later, they were there, outside the third-floor corridor— and the door was already ajar.

"Well, there you are," Harry said quietly. "Snape's already got past Fluffy."
Seeing the open door somehow seemed to impress upon all four of them what was facing them. Underneath the Cloak, Harry turned to the other three. 
"If you want to go back, I won't blame you," he said. "You can take the Cloak, I won't need it now."

"Don't be stupid," said Ron.

"We're coming," Hermione and (Y/n) said. 

Harry pushed the door open.

As the door creaked low, rumbling growls met their ears. All three of the dog's noses sniffed madly in their direction, even though it couldn't see them.

"What's that at its feet?" Hermione whispered.

"Looks like a harp," said Ron. "Snape must have left it there."

"It must wake up the moment you stop playing," said Harry. "Well, here goes..."
He put Hagrid's flute to his lips and blew. It wasn't really a tune, but from the first note, the beast's eyes began to droop. Harry hardly drew breath. Slowly, the dog's growls ceased— it tottered on its paws and fell to its knees, then it slumped to the ground, fast asleep.

"Keep playing," Ron warned Harry as they slipped out of the Cloak and crept toward the trapdoor. They could feel the dog's hot smelly breath as they approached the giant heads.
"I think we'll be able to pull the door open," said Ron, peering over the dog's back. "Want to go first, Hermione?"

"No, I don't!"

"All right." Ron gritted his teeth.

"I'll go first," (Y/n) told them. She and Ron shuffled past one another, trading places. (Y/n) stepped carefully over the dog's legs. She bent and pulled the ring of the trapdoor, which swung up and open, nearly knocking her over due to her using more force than required.

"What can you see?" Hermione asked anxiously.

"Nothing," (Y/n) answered. "Just darkness—" she felt around inside the door "—and there's no way of climbing down. We'll just have to drop."