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Carrying his woven bag of food and clutching his books, Richie navigated the corridors of Hogwarts Castle with extreme caution.
By now, the sky had gone pitch black. The castle was dead empty, with only the flickering torches casting a faint, dim light along the stone walls.
To avoid giving himself away, Richie decided against casting a Lumos charm. Instead, he hugged the walls, inching his way toward the stairwell of the West Tower.
Just as he was about to reach the stairs, his boots skidded to a halt at the corner. Cutting through the dim torchlight, Richie caught the eerie, glowing green reflection of two glass-like orbs lingering in the shadows.
Cat eyes.
Unless he was terribly mistaken, the feline lurking in the dark was none other than Argus Filch's pet—Mrs. Norris. Which meant the caretaker himself had to be waiting in ambush nearby.
Richie pulled his head back into cover, an odd expression crossing his face as he fished a small glass vial out of his food bag. He hadn't expected Windis to be so dead-on; he actually needed to use this thing on night one.
The vial contained a very specific mixture: catnip laced with Snakeroot.
Both were semi-magical plants in the wizarding world, known for being absolutely irresistible to felines. According to Windis, older students sneaking out at night used to rely on plain catnip to distract Mrs. Norris and dodge Filch's patrols.
But because it had been overused for years, the damn cat had eventually developed a magical tolerance to it.
To counter this, nocturnal rule-breakers started cutting their catnip with potent Snakeroot. This specific potion ingredient released pheromones mimicking a cat in heat—an intoxicating, inescapable lure for any feline.
Popping the cork off the vial, Richie crouched down. He slowly backed away, carefully sprinkling a trail of the dark green powder onto the floor.
"Alright, Mrs. Norris," he muttered. "Let's see if you take the bait."
A short distance away, Argus Filch was hiding behind a suit of armor, rubbing his hands together with a sickly, eager anticipation. At his feet sat a kerosene lantern draped in heavy black cloth, completely choking out its light.
"Barely the start of term, and already we've got a little rat out of bed," Filch sneered to himself. "I'll show them exactly how those claw marks on the dungeon walls got there!"
He had been camping out here for a while. The tip-off came right at nine o'clock when he noticed the library lights were still burning.
It wasn't finals week, meaning library hours hadn't been extended. Madam Pince always kicked everyone out at eight fifty-five sharp. Therefore, some sneaky little rat was stalling, planning to use the thirty-minute grace period before curfew to slip back to their dorm unnoticed.
But this particular rat was clearly oblivious to one crucial fact: in Filch's book, curfew started at nine. Period.
And the only kind of student willing to grind in the library that late had to be a Ravenclaw. Filch couldn't imagine anyone else bothering.
So, on the second night of the term, Filch gleefully waited in the dark, ready to bag his first rule-breaker of the semester.
"Come on, little rat. Come to me," he whispered.
"I'm going to make you regret crossing me."
A malicious, twisted grin stretched across Filch's weathered face.
Suddenly, Mrs. Norris darted out from her shadowed lookout point near the West Tower stairs and sprinted down the corridor.
Filch's eyes lit up. His scrawny, practically skeletal frame surged with an unexpected burst of adrenaline. Snatching up his lantern, he bolted after her.
"I see you!" he crowed.
"You can't hide from me!"
Wind rushed past his ears as he sprinted forward in a feverish rush. Rounding the corner, he spotted movement in the shadows up ahead, accompanied by a sharp, strange yowling from Mrs. Norris.
"Brilliant work, my sweet!" Filch cheered.
"Hahaha! What's wrong, you miserable little rat? Too terrified to speak?!"
"I'll show you exactly what happens when you break the rules in my castle."
A manic flush crept up Filch's neck as he rushed the shadows, lantern held high. As the harsh light flooded the alcove, the reality of the situation finally hit him.
His scrawny cat was writhing wildly on the stone floor, hissing and shrieking in a bizarre, frantic frenzy. Aside from the cat and a highly suspicious pile of green powder beneath her, the corridor was entirely empty.
A second later, a pungent, sour smell hit the air. Filch stared in absolute horror at his beloved Mrs. Norris thrashing around in such a disgraceful state. The lantern slipped from his grasp, shattering against the floor.
He clawed at his thinning hair, letting out a roar of pure rage.
"YOU FILTHY LITTLE RAT! JUST WAIT UNTIL I GET MY HANDS ON YOU!"
Hearing the caretaker scream like a banshee echoing down the halls, Richie offered a quick, silent apology to the cat and sprinted for the stairs.
He reached the stairwell in seconds, but his luck immediately ran out.
"Oooooh, heeheehee!"
"That useless old sack of garbage! An ugly, pathetic Squib who couldn't outsmart a troll just got completely clowned by a firstie! He's losing his mind!"
A spirit drifted straight out of the solid stone wall, staring at Richie with gleeful curiosity. It had spiky, violent orange hair, a ridiculous hat adorned with bells, a neon green tailcoat, and violently clashing red, blue, yellow, and green striped trousers.
Unlike the pearlescent, solemn ghosts of Hogwarts, this one was semi-transparent but aggressively colorful—jarringly so. He looked like an absolute clown.
Seeing the entity's eyes spinning wildly in their sockets, Richie dug his heels in. A deep sense of dread settled into his stomach.
Sure enough, before Richie could make a move, the "ghost" took a massive breath, puffing its cheeks out like a balloon. Then, at the top of its lungs, it began to bellow:
"STUDENT OUT OF BED AT THE STAIRWELL!"
"NAUGHTY LITTLE BOYSY AT THE STAIRWELL!"
"COME AND GET HIM, FILCHY YOU USELESS SACK!"
"LALALA!"
Down the hall, the frantic caretaker snapped his head up. Wheezing heavily like a broken air compressor, Filch shrieked in fresh rage:
"YOU LITTLE RAT!"
Abandoning the still-twitching Mrs. Norris, Filch tore down the corridor, thundering straight toward the stairs.
Hearing the heavy footsteps charging his way, Richie's heart dropped. Without overthinking it, he bolted straight through the clown's ethereal body and scrambled up the steps.
He hit the second floor.
"HE'S ON THE SECOND FLOOR!"
Third floor.
"HURRY UP, YOU USELESS LUMP!"
Fourth floor.
"DUMMY DUMMY DUMB DUMB!"
Fifth floor.
The clown-like "ghost" started pelting things at Richie, trying to trip him up. With both hands full—clutching his books and his food—Richie couldn't exactly draw his wand to cast a shield charm. He stumbled a few times but somehow managed to dodge the incoming barrage of garbage.
Hitting the fifth-floor landing without missing a beat, Richie sprinted down the West Arcade toward the spiral stone staircase. Suddenly, the chaotic spirit stopped screaming and throwing things.
"Boring. Useless Filch. Garbage Filch."
He blew a raspberry at Richie, pulled a series of ugly faces, and then phased backward through the solid stone wall, vanishing completely.
Richie had no idea why the poltergeist had suddenly given up, but he let out a massive sigh of relief. At the same time, he filed away every detail of the annoying phantom's face.
Just wait. There was plenty of time left in the school year. Sooner or later, he was going to "repay" the favor.
But he wasn't out of the woods yet. Gasping for breath, Richie forced his burning legs to keep climbing the spiral stairs.
Just a few breaths later, Filch skidded to a halt at the bottom of the steps.
Staring up the dizzying spiral staircase, Filch's bloodshot eyes bulged with pure hatred.
"YOU FILTHY LITTLE RAT!"
The caretaker's enraged roar echoed violently down the empty, winding halls.