The Extra Person

In the Gryffindor common room at Hogwarts Castle, after finishing dinner, Harry Potter stood by the window, his gaze fixed on the scene outside through the round glass panes.

Beyond the window, snowflakes drifted down slowly, like countless tiny elves dancing in the air. They touched the stone walls of the castle ever so lightly before quietly melting away. The once lush green lawns were now covered in a thin layer of white, the snow lying softly and silently over the dark gray bricks of Hogwarts and the surrounding land. The trees in the Forbidden Forest had donned a silvery cloak, with their evergreen needles and broad leaves adorned with shimmering ice crystals. Their branches swayed gently in the breeze, occasionally shaking off a flurry of snow, like a silent rain of white.

By the Black Lake, patches of reeds and aquatic plants were also blanketed in snow. The white frost encircled the dark waters, as if wrapping the lake in a pristine scarf. Under the twilight sky, the water's surface shimmered faintly, reflecting the hues of dusk. Snowflakes landed softly on the lake, vanishing instantly as they melted into the rippling waves.

Harry pushed open the window and took a deep breath of the crisp, wintry air. The cold filled his lungs as he inhaled, only to dissipate slowly in his chest. He stretched his hand outside, and after a moment, a delicate snowflake landed in his palm. He observed its intricate six-pointed structure, watching as it gradually melted in the warmth of his skin.

If not for the snowfall, Harry might have completely lost track of the date after a week filled with nothing but studying. However, when he recalled Hermione's confused expression upon returning to the common room—utterly baffled by the cheerful celebration around her—Harry couldn't help but smile. It seemed he wasn't the only one who only remembered what day of the week it was rather than the actual date.

"Brrr—so cold! Who left the window open again?!"

A sudden gust of wind sent a chill down Seamus' neck, making him shiver. Turning around, he saw Harry standing there, grinning as he let the icy air wash over him.

"Close the window already! All the warm air is escaping!" Ron rushed over in just a few strides and shut the window.

The minor interruption quickly faded as the students in the common room resumed their celebration of Gryffindor's first victory of the year. Meanwhile, the Weasley twins, who had somehow gotten their hands on a crate of Butterbeer, took the party to another level.

Harry handed over a few coins in exchange for a bottle of Butterbeer from the twins. Flicking the cap off with his thumb, he took a long swig, finishing half the bottle in one go. Then, slinging an arm around George's (or maybe Fred's) shoulder, he asked, "So, you two didn't happen to sneak off to Hogsmeade, did you? Lugging an entire crate of Butterbeer back—weren't you afraid of getting caught by a patrolling professor?"

"Well... that's a trade secret," Fred (or possibly George) replied smugly.

"But, given our friendship, we can offer you a special deal," George (or maybe Fred) added, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together. "For just ten Knuts, we'll share the secret with you."

"And for a single Sickle, we'll let you use this trade secret for a whole week," Fred (or possibly George) said with a wink. "And if you'd like to purchase it outright…"

"A mere five Galleons," the twins said in perfect unison.

Harry thought for a moment, then fished out a silver Sickle and handed it to them.

"A wise choice," George (or perhaps Fred) said approvingly.

The twins led Harry to a quiet corner. After glancing around to make sure no one was paying attention, George (or maybe Fred) pulled something out from under his cloak and placed it on an empty table. It was a large, square piece of old parchment, completely blank. Yet, strangely, Harry could feel a strong magical aura radiating from it.

"This is your trade secret?" Harry raised an eyebrow. "An old, tattered piece of parchment?"

"Ah, George, seems we've been underestimated," Fred pulled a face at Harry. "Shall we enlighten him?"

"Well, back in our first year, we were just like you, Harry—young, carefree, and innocent…"

"Hmph?" Harry snorted, highly doubtful that the Weasley twins had ever truly been innocent.

"…Well, more innocent than we are now," Fred conceded. "Anyway, we had a bit of a run-in with Filch."

"In fact, we set off a Dungbomb in the corridor," George elaborated, "which, for some reason, greatly displeased Filch. So, he dragged us to his office and subjected us to his usual…"

"…Detention…" Fred said dramatically.

"…Threats of disembowelment…" George added.

"…And as we sat there, we couldn't help but notice a certain drawer in his filing cabinet. One labeled 'Confiscated Items—Highly Dangerous.'"

"Don't tell me…" Harry chuckled, already guessing where this was going.

"That's right." Fred snapped his fingers. "While George distracted him with another Dungbomb, I made my move, yanked open the drawer, and grabbed…"

"This," the twins said together, patting the blank parchment on the table.

"It's not as bad as it sounds, you know," George continued. "Filch never figured out how to use it. But he must have suspected what it was, or he wouldn't have confiscated it."

"And do you know how to use it?" Harry asked.

"But of course," Fred grinned. "This little beauty has taught us more than all the professors in this school combined."

"I highly doubt that," Harry muttered, eyeing the worn parchment skeptically.

"Oh, would we lie to you?" George said, pulling out his wand and tapping the parchment lightly.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

Immediately, fine ink lines began to spread from the point where his wand had touched the parchment. The lines intertwined and branched out, covering every inch of the paper. Then, bold, curving green letters appeared at the top:

Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs proudly present: The Marauder's Map!

Even though he had yet to fully explore it, Harry could already tell that the map was incredibly detailed, illustrating every part of Hogwarts Castle and its grounds. But the most remarkable thing was the tiny ink dots moving across it, each labeled with a name.

Leaning in for a closer look, Harry spotted a dot in the upper-left corner labeled "Professor Dumbledore," pacing in his office. Another dot marked "Mrs. Norris" prowled the third-floor corridor, while the mischievous Peeves bounced around the trophy room. Scanning the map further, Harry noticed something else.

The map displayed a network of passageways, some of which he had never even seen before. Many seemed to lead…

"Yes, straight to Hogsmeade," Fred confirmed, as if reading Harry's mind, tracing a route with his finger.

"There are seven in total. Filch knows about these four…" He pointed them out one by one. "But these others? We're pretty sure only we know them. Oh, and don't bother with the one behind the mirror on the fifth floor—it collapsed just yesterday."

"…Completely blocked," George continued, pointing to another passage. "We believe no one has ever used this one because the Whomping Willow is planted right at its entrance. And this one here leads straight to Honeydukes' cellar. We've taken this route quite a few times. Its entrance is hidden beneath the statue of a one-eyed old witch. To get in, you have to tap it with your wand in a specific sequence, and that sequence is..."

"Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs," George sighed, patting the title of the map. "We owe them a great deal."

"Noble souls," Fred intoned solemnly, "tirelessly working to help a new generation break school rules."

"Exactly," George said cheerfully. "Oh, and don't forget to erase it when you're done..."

He added another reminder, "Otherwise, someone else might see it."

Fred tapped the parchment lightly with his wand. "Just a simple tap and say: 'Mischief Managed!' and it'll turn back into an ordinary blank parchment."

"Now, you've got a one-week trial of this old bit of parchment," the Weasley twins said in unison, each patting Harry on the shoulder. "Be sure to leave us a good review~"

With that, the twins turned back to the feast, while Harry pulled out his homework. As for the map—he figured he'd take a look after he was done.

Back in his dormitory, Harry unfurled the map and tapped it lightly with his wand, murmuring in his mind: I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.

Like an intricate spiderweb, fine ink lines spread from the point his wand had touched, weaving together, overlapping, extending to every corner of the parchment—until, finally, a detailed map of Hogwarts unfolded before his eyes.

His gaze swept past the five names near his own and landed on the Gryffindor common room, where a few students were sneaking out. Ahead of them, on the same floor, Professor McGonagall's name was moving steadily in their direction.

Harry silently mourned for the nighttime wanderers for a second before shifting his attention elsewhere. But suddenly, a chill ran down his spine, as if ice had been pressed against it and was creeping upward.

Something... felt off.

Retracing his gaze along the path he'd just taken, Harry's eyes finally stopped on the five names next to his own.

The dormitory… wasn't it supposed to have only five people?

His eyes locked onto an unfamiliar name, almost overlapping with Ron's. Then, he turned to look at Ron, peacefully breathing in his sleep, curled up as usual with Scabbers.

Harry narrowed his eyes.

What kind of person would disguise themselves as a rat and live as a wizard's pet for over ten years without ever revealing a single trace of their true identity?

"Dear Senior Tom," Dumbledore, clad in pajamas, pondered for a moment before continuing to write in the diary with a first-year's slightly immature handwriting. "I've been struggling to keep up with my schoolwork lately. Transfiguration and Charms are way too hard—I always seem to be the worst in class. What should I do, Senior?"

The childish script vanished, replaced by Tom Riddle's bold, confident handwriting.

"That's perfectly normal, Argyle. Even I, when I was in my first year, was completely lost when faced with magic I'd never encountered before. As long as you keep at it, you'll gradually catch up with the others~"

Feeling the tendrils of magic reaching out from the diary, attempting to probe into his mind, Dumbledore's lips curled slightly. He presented a carefully fabricated set of memories belonging to the little boy named "Argyle" while continuing to write:

"Senior, there's something else… I don't know if I should say it."

"Feel free, Argyle. We're friends, aren't we?" New words emerged on the diary's pages.

"Well… I think I might have a crush on an upper-year girl… I don't know if I should tell her…"

Just as Dumbledore was thoroughly enjoying his little game with Voldemort's diary, a knock sounded on the door of the Headmaster's office.

"Strange. Who could it be at this hour?" With a wave of his hand, an invisible force unlatched the door.

"Harry? Shouldn't you be tucked into bed at this time of night?" Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, his bright blue eyes focusing on Harry's floating head.

"I just found a stranger in my dormitory. How could I possibly sleep?" Harry shook his head. "Professor Dumbledore, do you know Peter Pettigrew?"

"Who did you say?" Dumbledore suddenly sat upright. "Harry, are you absolutely certain that the stranger was Peter Pettigrew?"

Harry pulled out the old, worn parchment and gave it a shake.

Meanwhile, just as the Weasley twins were about to head out for a nighttime stroll, they both turned to stare in confusion at the Galleon on their bedside table.

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