Chapter 63: The Vengeful Three-Headed Dog

Although Silven didn’t join, the Weasley twins still sneaked off that night to find the Whomping Willow.

And then… there was no “and then”—they were found by Fang at dawn, fast asleep on the path between the Whomping Willow and the castle.

One was upside down, head on the ground and body sprawled across the path; the other, five hundred meters away on the south side of the castle, was lying face-down with his legs dangling over a bush.

From these bizarre poses, it was obvious they didn’t actually enjoy sleeping outdoors.

Hagrid thought the same—he rushed over upon hearing Fang’s barks and carried them both to the hospital wing, one under each arm.

Because it was still dark, few people knew about it.

Silven only heard the news the next evening, from others.

After dinner, when Silven went to visit them in the hospital wing, neither showed any embarrassment.

“I got knocked flying right away,” Fred even vividly recounted last night’s ordeal. “Not as painful as I expected, but the force was enormous—like being hit by a Bludger.”

“Yeah, we were the Bludgers,” George shoved his head over to say. “No chance to resist at all.”

His injuries were worse than Fred’s—he’d broken several bones on the spot from the Whomping Willow’s blows, then broke his leg when he fell from the air.

Madam Pomfrey spent ten minutes resetting all his bones, then wrapped him head to toe in bandages.

“Bill will think you look adorable like this,” Fred said more than once.

Bill was the eldest Weasley child, a curse-breaker at Gringotts in Egypt, whose daily work involved dealing with mummies in pyramids.

If Bill were to care for George, it would practically be a perfect match.

“By the way, hasn’t your brother come to see you?” Silven asked.

“Brother? Who?” Fred blinked, confused.

“We only have a sister,” George said. “But Ginny won’t start until September this year.”

“What about Ron?”

“Don’t know him,” they said in unison.

Well, ever since they’d walked straight into McGonagall’s trap last time, they’d unilaterally denied any familial tie to Ron.

According to them—there was no such a stupid child in the Weasley family; he must be an imposter.

Percy, the tattletale, at least had good grades, and Fred and George had copied his notes often while doing homework.

Silven thought this was misplaced blame—after all, their own carelessness had played a major role in why they got caught that night.

But Fred and George refused to listen, insisting the root of all this was Ron telling Malfoy about their nighttime excursions.

“So Ron really didn’t come?” Silven asked again.

“Well, he just left before you got here,” George said. “Came with Harry and Hermione, but left right away.”

“Are they planning to break more rules?” Fred suddenly asked.

“What do you mean?”

“I can tell,” Fred put on a mysterious air. “They were distracted in the hospital wing, whispering to each other constantly.”

“I didn’t catch much, just heard them mention Snape, Professor Quirrell… Oh wait—do you think they’re going to yank off Quirrell’s scarf?”

“Or maybe put that scarf on Snape’s head,” George’s eyes lit up. “Silven, you must know something… If we’re right, you have to tell Ron—he’s our dearest brother.”

“And make sure he waits for us—we’ll act together,” Fred added.

“We want to see what’s under Quirrell’s scarf too.”

“Hmm… I’ll try,” Silven shrugged, noncommittal.

In a way, the Weasley twins were right—Harry and the others truly were after what was hidden under Quirrell’s scarf.

But no one would like that thing—better not even look at it, or you’d have nightmares.

“Why are you still here? Leave—they need rest!” Just then, Madam Pomfrey came over to shoo them out.

There was nothing to be done—Silven stood and headed toward the hospital wing’s exit.

“By the way, if you’re looking for Ron, check the fourth floor,” Fred suddenly remembered and called out. “They mentioned that place several times while whispering.”

“Be quiet!” Madam Pomfrey shut the door irritably, blocking Silven outside.

Outside, the night was fully dark.

Silven returned to the castle, planning to stop by the common room first.

But as he reached the fourth floor staircase, he suddenly heard furious growling—and equally furious curses.

“Damn beast… why isn’t it asleep!”

Then the voices vanished—as if a door had slammed shut, muffling everything inside.

Was that voice just now… Quirrell?

At this time, this place—it must be Quirrell. But what did he mean by “isn’t asleep”…?

Driven by curiosity, Silven left the staircase and walked down the familiar corridor.

Months ago, he’d blown out two of Fluffy’s teeth here—and left him a giant takeout meal.

To most wizards, the suffocating stench of a troll was torture—but for a three-headed dog, it might well be “aromatic.”

Thinking this way, maybe it wouldn’t come out and bite him.

Still, Silven wasn’t sure—he feared Fluffy held a grudge and dared not approach.

Just then…

“Fool! Idiot!”

Another voice came from behind the door—sharp, cold, nothing like Quirrell’s.

Silven’s wand, as if sensing a familiar presence, began trembling violently.

“I know you’re eager, but don’t rush,” Silven gripped the wand tightly. “The key figure hasn’t arrived yet—if we go now, we’re just delivering ourselves.”

Under Silven’s calm, the wand quieted. He lifted his gaze again toward the door before him.

A pool of blood was slowly seeping out from under the door…

Wait—didn’t Quirrell trick Hagrid into revealing Fluffy’s weakness with a dragon egg? All you needed was music to pass safely—so why was there blood?

Silven’s expression turned complex.

Had his earlier spell somehow cured Fluffy’s habit of falling asleep at music?

So Quirrell just now… oh, I hope he’s alright. And I hope that Voldemort on the back of his head has some sense—if he’s stumped by a dog, that’s humiliating.

“Awooo… Woof… Whimper!”

As if catching the scent outside, the three-headed dog growled again—this time even more ferocious.

“I knew it…” Silven sighed wearily. Fluffy hadn’t forgotten him.

Good thing it was trapped behind the door—as long as he stayed outside, he’d be fine…

“Boom!”

A heavy, unnatural crash abruptly shattered Silven’s thoughts. He turned instinctively—and the sight before him nearly froze his blood.

The door… was open.

In the pitch-black corridor, three pairs of blood-red eyes stared straight at him.

Worse still, Silven clearly saw half a snapped chain still dangling from the dog’s neck.

“***!”

In that split second, instinct took over—Silven spun and ran without hesitation!

(End of chapter)