Sleep came quickly for Keith that night.
Not the restless kind he was used to—
but deep, quiet, heavy with exhaustion and relief.
For once, his dreams were empty.
Morning sunlight filtered through the Hufflepuff dormitory windows when Keith woke.
He lay still for a moment, hand resting over the necklace beneath his shirt.
Temar's words echoed faintly in his mind.
Not yet.
Keith exhaled slowly, pushed himself up, and began the day.
Breakfast News
The Great Hall buzzed louder than usual.
Whispers raced ahead of footsteps, eyes darting, excitement mixed with fear.
Keith entered with Helana, Hermione, Daphne, Cassandra, Astoria, Susan, Katie, Angelina, Ginny, Penelope, and Rias, earning more than a few glances as they moved together.
They sat at the Hufflepuff table, plates filling themselves automatically.
Susan leaned in first, voice low but urgent.
"Keith… something happened last night."
He raised an eyebrow.
"Let me guess—someone screamed?"
Hermione blinked.
"You already know?"
Susan shook her head.
"Mrs. Norris."
The name made Keith pause mid-bite.
"She's… petrified."
Around them, conversations hushed and surged again like waves.
"They found her near the corridor—"
"Filch was furious—"
"He accused Neville—"
Keith's eyes flicked toward the staff table.
And there it was.
Argus Filch, red-faced, practically vibrating with rage, pointing an accusing finger at Neville Longbottom, who stood frozen, pale and shaking.
"I told you!" Filch screeched.
"That boy's cursed! Always trouble!"
Neville's hands trembled at his sides.
Before anyone could speak—
Dumbledore stood.
The Great Hall quieted instantly.
"Mrs. Norris," Dumbledore said calmly, "is not dead."
Filch sucked in a sharp breath.
"She has been petrified."
Gasps rippled through the students.
Keith leaned back slightly, eyes narrowing—not in fear, but recognition.
"…Yep," he muttered.
"Canon."
Ginny frowned.
"What?"
"Nothing," Keith said, waving it off. "Just—déjà vu."
He glanced again at Neville.
Boy Who Lived… but not the Chosen One.
The situation felt familiar—but wrong.
Twisted.
Keith shook his head once.
Not his problem.
He leaned closer to his group.
"Listen," he said quietly, voice steady.
"This is Dumbledore's headache, not ours."
Hermione opened her mouth to argue.
Keith held up a finger.
"I know. It's serious. But panicking won't help, and rushing in blindly helps even less."
Rias nodded, understanding immediately.
Daphne folded her hands, thoughtful.
Cassandra watched the staff table carefully.
Astoria looked worried—but trusted him.
Susan sighed softly.
"…You're right."
At the front of the hall, Dumbledore continued calmly organizing the staff, already setting protections in motion.
Keith picked up his fork again.
Inside, his mind was already working.
Petrification.
Halloween.
Not Neville.
"…Different board," he thought.
"Same game."
But for now—
He ate breakfast.
And let the adults deal with the chaos.