From Cupboard to Chaos

Curiosity Killed the Cat (But Let's Hope Not ME)

You'd think after the whole three-headed-dog-nearly-murdering-me incident and a harrowing trip to the Forbidden Forest, I'd have learned my lesson....

Right.....

 You'd think, maybe don't go poking around magical murder zones, Harry.

Spoiler: I didn't.

It started with the unicorn blood.

No matter how much I tried to shove the memory of the silvery liquid glistening on the forest floor out of my head, it kept coming back. Who—or what—would hurt a unicorn? And why did the centaur seem so spooked? My mind was like a hamster on a wheel, spinning theories faster than Professor Sprout could say mandrake repotting.

Hannah Abbott tried to talk some sense into me during breakfast.

"Harry, leave it alone," she said, dunking her toast into her tea. "If it's dangerous enough to freak out a centaur, it's too dangerous for you."

"But what if it's connected to the forbidden corridor?" I asked, gesturing wildly with my fork. "And what if that is connected to the trapdoor? It's all too suspicious to ignore!"

Hannah gave me her best you're-going-to-get-yourself-killed look. "Harry. You're a first-year. Not Sherlock Holmes."

"I could be," I said. "If Sherlock had a wand."

She sighed. "Fine. Do what you want. Just don't drag me into it."

That evening, after dinner, I decided to do some "research."

Now, at a normal school, research would involve books, maybe a library, and definitely no risk of life or limb. At Hogwarts, "research" meant sneaking into the restricted section of the library under the guise of borrowing a Herbology textbook.

Madam Pince, the librarian, watched me like a hawk as I shuffled around, pretending to care about the shelf labeled Care of Magical Fungi. When her back was turned, I slipped into the restricted section, clutching my wand like a lifeline.

Here's the thing about the restricted section: it doesn't want you there.

Books whispered as I passed, their spines glowing faintly in the dim light. One particularly nasty-looking tome let out a low growl when I reached for it, so I decided that one could stay on the shelf.

Eventually, I found a book titled Magical Beasts and Where Not to Find Them. Sounded promising.

I flipped through the pages, scanning for anything about unicorn hunters or trapdoors. Instead, I found:

- A chapter on how to survive an angry manticore (step one: don't make eye contact).

- An entry about flesh-eating slugs, complete with stomach-churning illustrations.

- Absolutely nothing useful.

"Great," I muttered.

As I closed the book, something heavy landed on my shoulder.

I screamed.

"Shut it!" hissed Madam Pince, who had materialized out of nowhere like a bat in a cardigan. "What are you doing in here?"

"Uh...research?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Out. Now."

After being unceremoniously booted from the library, I wandered the corridors, my curiosity still very much intact. Maybe books weren't the answer. Maybe I needed to see things for myself.

And by "things," I mean the forbidden corridor. Again.

Sneaking back to the third floor was easier than I expected. Filch was probably busy yelling at some poor Gryffindor for tracking mud into the castle, and Peeves, the resident poltergeist, was cackling somewhere near the dungeons.

When I reached the door to the corridor, I hesitated.

This is a bad idea, my brain whispered. But what if it's also an awesome idea?

The awesome side won.

I pushed the door open, my heart pounding.

The three-headed dog, who I later learned was named Fluffy (because of course it was), was exactly where I'd last seen it, sprawled across the floor with its heads resting on its paws.

This time, however, I noticed a harp lying nearby. Its strings glowed faintly, and a soft, magical melody drifted through the air. Fluffy was fast asleep, snoring loudly.

"Interesting," I whispered.

The trapdoor was just a few feet away. All I had to do was get past the sleeping dog.

"Alright, Harry," I muttered to myself. "This is your moment. Be brave. Be bold. Be—"

One of Fluffy's heads twitched, and I froze mid-step.

Be very quiet, my brain finished.

Somehow, I managed to tiptoe past Fluffy without waking it up. My pulse was racing, and my wand was shaking slightly in my hand, but I made it to the trapdoor.

It was locked, of course.

"No problem," I whispered, kneeling down. "You've got magic. You can handle this."

I tried Alohomora, the unlocking charm we'd learned in class, but the lock didn't budge.

"Okay, Plan B."

Plan B, as it turned out, was me poking the lock with my wand and hoping for the best.

Spoiler: the best did not happen.

Instead, Fluffy woke up.

The harp's melody faltered, and one of Fluffy's heads opened its eyes, blinking groggily.

"Uh-oh."

The second head woke up next, followed by the third.

"Nice doggy," I said, backing away slowly. "Go back to sleep. Nothing to see here."

Fluffy growled, all three heads glaring at me with terrifying intensity.

And then it lunged.

I bolted for the door, my heart pounding like a drum. Behind me, Fluffy barked loudly, its claws scraping against the floor as it chased me.

"Bad dog! BAD DOG!" I yelled, throwing myself through the door and slamming it shut just in time.

I collapsed against the wall, gasping for breath.

"Okay," I said to no one in particular. "Maybe Hannah was right. This was a terrible idea."

As I staggered back to the common room, my mind was already racing again.

Fluffy wasn't just a random guard dog. That harp was enchanted to keep it asleep. Which meant someone else had been there.

And whoever they were, they'd gotten closer to the trapdoor than I had.

I didn't know what was behind it yet, but one thing was clear: it wasn't just a broom closet.