Strange

The Haunting Revelation

Perched on the wide windowsill of a seldom used stairwell, staring out into the setting sun view, knees to her chest, Hermiones body racked with silent sobs. Her fingers, trembling like frightened birds, sought solace in the threads of her nylon bracelet, a grounding touch in the face of mounting pain and humiliation. She would've been more concerned with the fact that she'd hit a teacher but the encounter with Filch replayed in her mind, his face morphing into a distorted mask, fangs glinting in the memory's dim light. The image was monstrous, impossible, yet the raw scrape on her arm, a cruel memento of his inhuman claws, screamed reality.

Could it be someone doused Filch with a polyjuice potion? The properties of a polyjuice wouldn't work as well on a squib, so it wasn't likely. He certainly wasn't a werewolf. But then, Filch had never been kind, so perhaps this was merely an exaggerated reflection of his inner ugliness? Doubt and confusion gnawed at her, an unwelcome worm twisting in her gut. Would McGonagall even believe her outlandish tale? The thought of explaining it fueled a fresh wave of tears, adding another layer to the crushing weight on her heart.

The sundae of her day, already overloaded with Theo's foul mind and Draco's unsettling ambiguity, now brimmed with this unimaginable horror. She missed  Ron, his barmy yet well-intended support, his comforting normalcy. Briefly, she considered seeking out the Mirror of Erised, but her emotions were too unstable, like a leaf in a wild river, for another confrontation with her own demons.

A soft meow shattered the silence, making her heart leap into her throat. As she lifted her head, a pair of emerald eyes met hers - Mrs. Norris sat on a bottom step, a lick to her paw . The cat's presence, unsettling at the best of times, now felt ominous, a harbinger of doom. And doom came swiftly, heralded by the rapid thud of footsteps and a menacing purr that vibrated against the walls.

There he stood, Filch, transformed. Narrowed eyes, flecked with gold, peered from beneath a tangle of greasy hair, reminiscent of a cat's whiskers. Half his body was cloaked in golden fur, the human skin giving way to the sleek hide of a kneazle. His fingernails, once chipped and dirty, had morphed into cruel, foot-long claws. This was no delusion, no figment of a storm-addled mind. This was all too real, etched in the grotesque tableau before her.

Echoing in the hollow space of her mind, a chilling thought, unmistakably Filch's, washed over her: 

Muggleborn scum. I'll paint these halls with your blood too... and those ungrateful Slytherins.

Hermione's heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drum urging her legs to flee when Filch lunged, and a scream tore from her throat as a searing pain blossomed on her thigh, another mark of Filch's wrath. Adrenaline propelled her into the nearest corridor which was the fourth floor, lungs begging for air that came in ragged gasps. Behind her, the rhythmic thud of Filch's pursuit echoed, heavy and relentless, like the wet plod of a horse driven by a fury she'd never witnessed before. 

This new, terrifying version of Filch had already scarred her, claws extended, his eyes burning with an unrecognizable hatred. The memory was her muse for survival. Despite her fear, a part of Hermione marveled at her own stamina—a testament to her months on the run. Yet, even the fittest of fugitives needed a plan, especially when trapped on the fourth floor of a castle. The sixth-floor bathrooms, with their secret passage to the Gryffindor common rooms dug by the Order, seemed her best bet for escape and to sound the alarm. But Filch was closing in, and without her wand, her options were frighteningly limited. She had to lose him, and she had to do it fast, and leading Filch, especially in his current, unpredictable state, towards others was too dangerous. 

Recalling a piece of obscure Hogwarts lore, Hermione's thoughts flew to the Gargoyle Corridor. Most students avoided it due to the intimidating stone figures lining its path, their faces twisted in grotesque expressions of anger and despair. Hermione, however, remembered reading about it in a marginal note of a library book—a forgotten study on Illusions. According to the note, an ancient wizard had enchanted one particular gargoyle to serve as a guardian for those in dire need, that it would reveal a a hidden door to a secret turret staircase connecting the second, fourth, and sixth floors.