Chapter 52: The Dribble Office

"Magic?" Roger looked at Snape's textbook, feeling rather uncertain.

"Take it steady, wait until Christmas to see Moscow. Patience is a rare virtue!" Recalling Professor McGonagall's teachings, Roger obediently stayed in the dungeon to process potion ingredients.

The night grew deeper, and the moon climbed high above the tower.

Roger stretched lazily, loosening his tired body after a long stretch of labor, and could not help muttering, "Snape, you're exploiting child labor! And you don't even pay wages!"

The previously messy antler grass had been processed into one-inch sections, neatly bundled and stacked together in a way that was pleasing to the eye.

"Living here at night, aren't you afraid of nightmares?" Roger glanced around the office; the walls covered in biological specimens made one's heart creep.

Glass jars of all sizes contained pickled beast limbs, brains of unknown creatures, and eyeballs rolling around...

"You clearly have a dedicated office, yet you insist on living in the dungeon. Dealing with these things all day, no wonder they call you the old bat." Roger shook his head, tucked the herbology book into his robe, and left the classroom.

Due to the remote location of the dungeon, he had to take a long detour to return to the common room. Roger pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time; it was nearing midnight: "Great, now I have to watch out for Filch and Mrs. Norris."

With a fluttering and anxious heart, Roger cautiously stepped into the castle. He looked around warily, seeing no sign of Filch: "Ah, why did I lose my mind and fail to learn the Disillusionment Charm on my very first day?"

While Hogwarts was lively during the day, night was when this ancient castle truly held its carnival. Musical instruments floated in the corridors playing tunes, figures in portraits visited and chatted with one another, and occasionally greeted Roger as he violated curfew.

The suits of armor on both sides of the corridor jumped down from their display plinths. By day, they frequently traded punches and kicks, but at night they became even more uninhibited.

The contestant on the left was a German Gothic suit of plate armor—smooth, ornate, with sharp edges and graceful curves. Its iron-gauntleted hands gripped a two-handed claymore and savagely hacked at the armor beside it.

The opposing contestant from the English region refused to give an inch; the Hele-style plate armor raised a warhammer to block the greatsword, then struck back fiercely with its fists.

Though they had lost their knights, the spirit of battle still burned within the steel harnesses. Witnessed by Roger, the Gothic contestant from Germany successfully dismantled its opponent into spare parts.

"Exquisite German craftsmanship, even in the magical world." Roger applauded the victor, and it modestly bowed in gratitude to the young wizard.

However, the armor pieces clattered loudly onto the stone floor, the massive sound echoing from the corridor all the way to the entrance hall. Startled, Roger hurriedly fled the scene.

"Little wizard not sleeping, wandering about late at night, Peeves is going to tell on you!" Peeves materialized from nowhere, floating in the air and circling Roger with loud laughter.

"Peeves, move aside!"

"Not moving! Unless you say please!" Peeves pulled a face as Filch's footsteps grew louder upstairs.

"Please!" Roger desperately wished he could bind Peeves with a Full Body-Bind Curse and hand him over to the Bloody Baron for a thorough beating.

"Why didn't you say 'Please move aside', how did you know the answer Peeves wanted?" Peeves dropped down with curiosity, staring right into the young wizard's eyes.

"Can you move aside now?"

With a disgruntled expression on his face, Peeves cleared the path for Roger. But the moment Roger lifted his foot, Peeves bellowed at the top of his lungs, "Filch, come quick! There's a little wizard out wandering after hours!"

"Damn Peeves, sooner or later I'll feed you to the Baron."

"Peeves, you can't fool me!" Filch and Mrs. Norris rushed over; just moments ago upstairs, Peeves had stubbornly refused to tell him where the young wizard had gone.

"Stupid Filch, you can't even solve Peeves's riddle. Even if I told you there's a rule-breaking little wizard, you wouldn't catch him!" Peeves laughed gleefully, diving into a stone wall and vanishing without a trace, leaving only echoes of laughter ringing through the corridor.

Mrs. Norris sensed something and let out a sharp screech toward the corner.

"Wretched little wizard, let's see where you can run!" Filch cursed, brandishing his lantern as he gave chase.

The end of the corridor led to the Slytherin common room, and Filch likely guessed which young wizard was wandering about.

"Purity and strength." Roger ran back to the entrance of the secret room and hurriedly recited the password, yet the stone wall remained completely still.

"Oh no, it's already Friday!" Roger gave a bitter smile; midnight had already passed. If he had known, he wouldn't have acted as a referee for the armor.

"Pure-blood supreme... Heart of the Black Lake... Power..." Roger dug up old passwords and chanted them endlessly at the wall. He even invented brand-new words on the spot, but none of it had any effect.

"Time to slip away." The secret entrance to Slytherin was a dead end, and Roger had no intention of getting trapped here.

"Meow!" Mrs. Norris sprinted over first, wailing at Roger to summon Filch.

"Let's see who's violating curfew!" Panting heavily, Filch blocked Roger's path completely.

"Well, well, well, I knew it was you!" Filch grinned like a hideous water demon, which explained why the young wizards throughout the school feared him so much.

"Good evening, caretaker and Mrs. Norris." Roger smiled at them and hastily explained, "If I said I was running late because of Professor Snape, would you believe me?"

"Hmph!" Filch grabbed Roger by the shoulder and marched him toward his office. "Then you can explain that to Professor Snape!"

"I'm going to put you in detention!" Filch roared as he shoved Roger into the office, excitedly pointing to the iron chains dangling from the wall, polished to a gleaming shine.

"The Headmaster really ought to let me bring back medieval punishments." Filch fetched a whip and gave it a vicious tug.

He threatened, "I ought to hang all you rule-breaking troublemakers upside down by iron chains and thrash you mercilessly with a whip! Only then will you learn your lesson."

"Mr. Filch, surely it doesn't come to that?" Roger smiled wryly at Filch. The caretaker hadn't caught a student in who knows how long and was hopping around like an excited rabbit.

"Stay right here and behave, I still have to catch that other bad student who ran off!" Filch warned Roger not to step outside, leaving Mrs. Norris behind to keep watch. He slammed the door shut, and judging by the sound, locked it from the outside.

"Mrs. Norris, look, delicious food." Roger caught a whiff of fried fish in the air—no wonder Mrs. Norris was kept so lean by Filch. The benefits of keeping an owl manifested themselves once again, as he happened to carry pet food on his person.

Mrs. Norris leaped onto the table, her fur bristling as she hissed a hoarse warning at Roger to withdraw his claws.

"Are you really not going to try?" Roger shrugged and sprinkled the cat food across the table top.

Mrs. Norris jumped back sharply, and only after seeing Roger step away did she cautiously sniff the air. At first, she maintained her vigilance, but she quickly succumbed to the aroma of the cat food, tentatively tasting a tiny bit.

Then she lunged forward frantically, devouring the rations on the table completely, leaving not even a crumb behind. Mrs. Norris raised her tail and rubbed against Roger's leg, asking for more.

"Heh heh, indeed there is no cat that cat food cannot conquer. If there is, just give her another handful." Roger settled into a stool and signaled for the cat to jump up. Stroking the cat, he felt completely at ease, looking nothing like someone who had just been caught.

Roger surveyed Filch's office: dim, filthy, and windowless. A solitary oil lamp hung down from the low ceiling, making the room feel all the more oppressive. Roger frowned; the stagnant air was as cold and damp as Azkaban.

"Scourgify." He waved his wand, intending to blast a window into the wall. However, the castle's protective magic deflected the spell right back.

Holding Mrs. Norris, Roger walked past rows of wooden cabinets labeled with various confiscated contraband. One particular drawer was marked: High-Risk Items.