Chapter 15: Encountering the Mysterious Girl Again

"Malfoy tricked you," Hermione said to Harry. "Don't you see? He never planned to meet you there—Filch must've known someone would be going to the Trophy Room. Malfoy must have tipped him off!"

Harry thought she might be right, but he clearly didn't want to admit it.

"Let's go," Harry said, turning around.

But things weren't that simple.

They had barely taken ten steps when a round doorknob clanked behind them, and something darted out from a nearby classroom.

It was Peeves!

The poltergeist squealed with delight the moment he saw them.

"Shut up, Peeves! Please! You'll get us expelled!" Ron pleaded, looking miserable.

Peeves cackled madly. He couldn't care less.

"Naughty little firsties, sneaking around in the dead of night! Tsk, tsk, tsk… You're gonna get caught!" he sing-songed in a bizarre imitation of the Sorting Hat.

"Peeves, do you want to know how the Bloody Baron got those silver bloodstains on him?" Maca suddenly asked, watching him for a moment.

"Eh?" Peeves flinched at the name, clearly startled. A hint of fear flickered across his face. "H-how did he get them?"

"Hehe… I'll tell you," Maca said, his expression turning eerie, voice low and slow, carrying a chilling tone. "Even when he was alive, the Baron loved eating spectre… and even after death, he still does…"

"I saw him just now, heading this way. Didn't you see him?" Maca added.

"Oh no—!" Peeves shrieked and whooshed straight through the wall, gone in a flash.

"Maca, that was brilliant!" Ron exclaimed. Harry and Neville nodded enthusiastically in agreement.

"Spectre?" Hermione frowned. "What do they have to do with Peeves? Isn't he a ghost?"

"I asked the Bloody Baron about it," Maca said, shaking his head. "Peeves is a poltergeist, not a ghost. He can interact with physical objects—normal ghosts can't."

"You talked to the Bloody Baron? Isn't he terrifying?" Ron asked, wide-eyed.

Maca just shrugged. As he motioned for the group to move along, he casually explained, "He's not that bad. Don't let his looks fool you. He's been loyal to Hogwarts in life and death. Alohomora!"

The others turned just in time to see him cast a spell. Without noticing it, they'd reached the end of the corridor.

"Let's slip inside and hide for a while—at least until Filch…" Maca trailed off, suddenly pausing mid-sentence.

"What's wrong? Why don't we go in?" Ron whispered.

"…I think," Maca stepped back, giving an awkward smile, "meeting Filch might actually be the better option."

BANG! Maca slammed the door shut.

From inside came a thunderous roar.

"That's a huge dog," Harry said, having caught a glimpse before the door closed.

"A three-headed one," Maca corrected, raising his hands in surrender. "Run!"

As if responding on cue, the door shuddered violently—whatever was inside was now throwing itself at it.

They bolted, sprinting at full speed. Filch must've gone looking elsewhere, because they didn't run into him—not that they had time to worry. All they wanted now was to get as far away from that beast as possible.

They didn't stop running until they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady on the eighth floor. It was only then that they realized Maca was gone.

"I saw him head downstairs," Hermione panted. "He must've gone back to the Hufflepuff dorm."

In truth, Maca hadn't returned straight to his dorm. Instead, he took a detour to the Hogwarts kitchens to grab something to eat—he hadn't eaten much at dinner, and after all that running, he was starving.

For Maca, "rest" had become something of a luxury—he constantly felt like there just wasn't enough time.

Ever since that night of sneaking around Hogwarts with Harry and the others, Maca had thrown himself back into study and research. Not just Potions—he couldn't afford to fall behind in other subjects either. At least not until he reached a level where he could handle real combat without fear.

After all, there was still Voldemort lurking in the shadows, watching and waiting. Maca had no intention of being caught helpless if the Death Eaters decided to strike.

Once he finished brewing the Invisibility Potion, he planned to sneak into the Restricted Section of the library. If possible, he even wanted to study those so-called "Dark Arts" himself, to understand how they truly differed from other branches of magic at their core.

Time slipped away quietly, unnoticed. And by the time you turned around, everything around you had already changed.

It wasn't until the eve of Halloween, when Maca once again ran into that mysterious Slytherin girl in the library, that he realized—he'd already been at Hogwarts for nearly two months.

"Excuse me, do you know where the books about 'cultivating Shrivelfigs' are kept?"

Same flat, emotionless tone. A question nearly identical to the one she'd asked last time. And once again, she was standing right behind him. Maca stared at her wordlessly for a moment before pulling a book out from the towering stack in front of him and placing it on the chair beside him.

"I happen to have one here," Maca said softly. "You can sit and read it if you want."

To his surprise, the girl obediently pulled out the chair, set down her notebook, and quietly took a seat beside him. Maca had assumed she never listened to others.

For a long while, she flipped back and forth through the thick book, quill in hand—but her notebook remained completely blank.

"Having trouble?" Maca couldn't help asking.

"There are too many steps, too many words… I don't know where to start," she replied seriously, looking up at him for the first time.

Only then did Maca get a proper look at her—big, round eyes; a small, delicate nose; and skin so pale it seemed almost translucent. She was, without a doubt, a strikingly pretty girl.

And then there were the wisps of hair peeking out from under her pointed hat—white hair, a sickly kind of white.

She must really hate others seeing her hair; she kept it all hidden beneath her hat.

"…Okay, let's note this down," Maca said after thinking for a moment. "Shrivelfig—deciduous plant, strong root system, survives through winter. Low water requirements, watering interval: 1–2 weeks. Moderate fertilizer needs—best applied every 3–5 weeks. Dragon dung is most effective…"

He glanced at the book to confirm the details, then recited the key points slowly, organizing them in a more digestible form. The girl showed no doubt in his memory and transcribed everything with her pale green quill, word for word.

Just as Maca was about to say something after she finished writing, the girl abruptly closed her notebook, placed the book back on his stack, and—without a word—got up and left the library.

"…Again?" Maca muttered, touching his nose and staring after her. "Did I say something wrong? Maybe she doesn't like being helped? Or is she just extremely shy?"

The next morning, as soon as Maca woke up, he was hit by a sickeningly sweet smell of roasted pumpkin wafting through the corridor.

Truth be told, Maca disliked pumpkins. He didn't enjoy anything made from them—the gooey texture of pumpkin flesh made his entire body feel queasy.

After the first class that morning, Maca joined the stream of students weaving through the crowded hallway. The next lesson was Professor Flitwick's Charms class, which meant heading upstairs.

"…No wonder no one can stand her," Maca heard Ron's voice somewhere nearby in the crowd. "Honestly, she's like a walking nightmare."

At that moment, a girl bumped straight into him.

"Oh, Merlin! This is a bit too sudden—I wasn't ready for—Hermione?"

Looking down, Maca recognized the bushy hair instantly—who else could it be but Miss Granger?

"I think she heard what you said," came Harry's voice, though Maca still couldn't see them.

"Oh, s-sorry…" Hermione seemed dazed, not even noticing who she'd run into.

"It's fine. I mean, are you okay, Hermione?" Maca asked, noticing her red, puffy eyes. "Did someone upset you?"

"Ah! Maca—it's nothing… really…" she replied quickly, glancing up at him before hurrying away.

Maca watched her disappear into the crowd, feeling puzzled. What on earth just happened?

As the saying goes, "you can't see the forest for the trees"—when you're immersed in an environment, it's easy to miss the bigger picture.

It wasn't until dinner time, when Maca arrived at the entrance to the Great Hall, that he overheard two Gryffindor girls talking:

"Did you see Hermione today?"

"I found her earlier—she's been crying in the girls' bathroom and won't let anyone comfort her."

Suddenly, everything clicked. Maca looked at the dazzling Halloween decorations in the hall and snapped back to the present—Quirrell should be releasing the troll by now!

"The third floor? No—could it be Moaning Myrtle's bathroom?" he thought aloud, already running in the opposite direction. But by the time he reached the second floor, something didn't feel right.

"What was Quirrell's goal again…? Oh! The Philosopher's Stone!"

For the past two months, Maca had been so absorbed in his magical studies that he'd nearly forgotten all about the Stone.

"So… where would be a good place to unleash a troll, and make a clean getaway, without being noticed by the crowd?"

After a moment of calm thought, Maca reached a conclusion—

Hermione is in the dungeons.