From Cupboard to Chaos

Worst Decision Yet

f there's one thing I've learned about being Harry Potter, it's that every time I think I've reached peak disaster, the universe rolls its metaphorical sleeves up and says, Hold my butterbeer.

Which is why, five minutes after swearing I wouldn't go after the Philosopher's Stone, I was sneaking through the castle with a kneazle and a book I barely understood.

"This is a terrible idea," I whispered, clutching the glowing book to my chest as we navigated the dark corridors.

The kneazle ignored me, trotting ahead like it had a GPS for impending doom.

"I mean it," I hissed. "This is worse than the time I thought putting sugar in a cauldron would make the potion taste better."

It flicked its tail, clearly unimpressed by my whining.

We eventually reached the third-floor corridor—the one we'd been warned to avoid under pain of death.

"So," I said, staring at the door in front of us. "This is it. The death trap."

The kneazle sat down and stared at me expectantly.

"I don't suppose you have a plan?" I asked.

It meowed.

"Great," I muttered. "Guess I'm winging it."

With a deep breath, I pushed the door open.

Inside was a giant three-headed dog, snoring loudly on the floor.

I froze.

"Oh, come on," I whispered. "A literal guard dog? That's so cliché."

The kneazle, apparently unfazed by the sight of Cerberus Jr., pranced right up to the monstrous creature and sat down next to its paw.

"What are you doing?!" I hissed, resisting the urge to scream.

It meowed softly, and to my utter disbelief, the dog stopped snoring and opened one of its massive eyes.

I held my breath as the kneazle stared the beast down, purring like it had just found its new best friend.

The dog huffed, blinked a few times, and then laid its heads back down, resuming its nap.

I stared in shock. "What kind of magic cat are you?"

Carefully stepping around the dog, I spotted a trapdoor in the floor.

"This has to be the way," I whispered, kneeling down to inspect it.

The kneazle jumped onto my shoulder, purring like this was all a fun game.

"Yeah, laugh it up," I muttered, pulling the trapdoor open. "You're not the one risking your neck here."

Below was a dark tunnel, the faint smell of earth and mildew wafting up.

"Lovely," I said, wrinkling my nose. "Nothing like a good old-fashioned dungeon crawl."

With a final glance at the still-sleeping dog, I climbed down into the darkness.

The tunnel led to a chamber filled with writhing vines that glowed faintly in the dim light.

I paused at the entrance, staring at the scene in front of me.

"Okay," I said slowly. "This is definitely a trap."

The kneazle hopped off my shoulder and padded into the room without hesitation.

"Hey! Wait!" I called after it.

The vines immediately reacted, wriggling toward the kneazle like they had minds of their own.

"Don't you dare!" I shouted, scrambling into the room.

The moment I stepped onto the vines, they shot up, wrapping around my legs and pulling me off my feet.

"Brilliant!" I shouted, struggling against the planty death grip. "Why do I even try?"

The kneazle, meanwhile, was lounging on a nearby patch of floor, completely untouched.

"Are you kidding me?!" I yelled. "How are you not getting attacked?!"

It yawned, looking utterly bored.

"Oh, sure, just relax while I get strangled to death by weeds," I grumbled. "No big deal."

I remembered something about dangerous plants from Herbology—specifically that they hated light.

Fumbling for my wand, I pointed it at the vines. "Lumos!"

The tip of my wand lit up, and the vines recoiled, retreating back to the ground and releasing me.

I collapsed onto the floor, panting.

"Okay," I said, glaring at the kneazle. "Next time, you're on your own."

It chirped and hopped back onto my shoulder, clearly unbothered.

The next chamber was even worse.

A series of enchanted keys buzzed around the room like oversized dragonflies, each one glowing faintly in the dim light.

In the center was a locked door.

"Of course," I muttered, staring up at the swarm of keys. "Because why make it easy?"

The kneazle leapt off my shoulder and bounded toward an old broomstick propped against the wall.

"Oh, no," I said, backing away. "Flying? Not happening. Nope."

It meowed insistently, pawing at the broom.

"I'm serious!" I said. "I don't do flying. It's undignified and terrifying, and I—"

The kneazle knocked the broom over, and it landed at my feet.

I sighed. "Fine. But if I fall and die, I'm haunting you."

Riding the broom was as awful as I remembered, but somehow, I managed to grab the correct key and unlock the door without plummeting to my doom.

"Never again," I muttered, my hands shaking as I landed.

The kneazle trotted through the door like this was all just a fun field trip.

"Why couldn't I have a normal pet?" I grumbled, following it into the next room.

This chamber was filled with giant chess pieces, all of them positioned on a massive board that stretched across the floor.

I stared at the setup, dread pooling in my stomach.

"Oh no," I said. "Not chess. Anything but chess."

The kneazle meowed and hopped onto the nearest pawn, which immediately came to life.

I groaned. "Of course. Because why not add strategy to the list of things I'm terrible at?"

Somehow, by sheer dumb luck and the kneazle's uncanny ability to pick the right moves, we made it through the chess game without being squashed.

I collapsed on the other side of the board, staring up at the ceiling.

"I hate this school," I said.

The kneazle purred, curling up next to me like it hadn't just dragged me through a gauntlet of magical death traps.

"Let's just get this over with," I muttered, hauling myself to my feet.

Whatever was waiting in the final chamber, I had a feeling it was going to make everything else look like a picnic.