Warren soothed Milo, feeding her a treat as well, and shrugged. "That's how. Give her a snack."
"You're lying," Ron muttered. "Last time Harry offered her some roast beef, she ignored him and chased us down three corridors. She's a horrible cat."
Warren rolled his eyes. "Oh, my dear dimwit of a brother. Animals are sensitive creatures. They can tell if you're genuine or just faking it. You had an ulterior motive. Of course she ignored you."
He scratched Mrs. Norris under the chin. She purred contentedly, rolled over, and exposed her belly, batting at Warren's fingers with tiny paws as he played with her.
"All right, off you go. Just don't tell Filch."
Warren stroked her fur, then frowned. "Hmm, I'll need to brew you some supplements. You're far too thin."
Mrs. Norris licked his finger, gave Ron and Hermione one last look with those unnerving eyes, and swished her tail as she trotted back to her post at the Trophy Room door.
Warren glanced toward the Trophy Room. "Keeping Harry company?"
"Yeah, we're worried Malfoy might pick on him."
"Don't worry. I warned Draco I'd turn him into a rat and give him to Milo as a toy if he costs Slytherin any more points."
Hermione laughed. "Good. That ought to scare him."
Ron, however, clutched his pocket, face pale. He didn't doubt for a second that Warren was serious.
"Alright, I need to finish dealing with Peeves."
Warren stood up. "I'll leave Milo here with you. Once Harry finishes polishing the trophies, Milo will lead you to me. I'll take you to some interesting places. I've discovered a few secrets lately."
With that, Warren walked away, leading Peeves behind him.
Hermione watched him go, her eyes shining. "Ronald, you really ought to learn from your brother. He's clever and kind. Even Mrs. Norris likes him."
Ron puffed out his cheeks, refusing to speak to the silly girl.
They waited for over an hour. Finally, Harry emerged. He looked exhausted, barely conscious. He tried to wipe his face with a polishing cloth when he saw Ron, but Ron quickly stopped him.
When Ron explained that Warren was taking them on a late-night adventure, Harry perked up slightly. As they followed Milo to find Warren, Harry began to complain.
"You have no idea how many trophies there are. We weren't allowed to use magic, so we had to do it all by hand. My brain had completely shut down by the time I was halfway through."
Hermione pointed out, "Even if you were allowed to use magic, you wouldn't know any spells."
Harry didn't seem to be listening. His eyes lit up and he told his friends eagerly, "I saw my dad's Quidditch trophy. It had his name on it. James Potter. Malfoy was so jealous. Even though he kept bragging about his family, I know his dad doesn't have a trophy."
Ron was envious too. His dad didn't have one either. Charlie had won one, but it wasn't the same.
Milo led them to the second floor, a level they knew well. The Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, the Transfiguration office, the History of Magic lecture hall, the Muggle Studies room, and the hospital wing were all located here, along with a disused girls' bathroom. They followed Milo inside and found Warren was talking to Moaning Myrtle.
"Oh, Warren Weasley, you absolute sweetheart, you are so thoughtful. No one ever cares about me. Whenever anyone sees me, they always shout, 'Here comes that awful Myrtle.'"
She let out a few wailing sobs before suddenly shrieking and flying into a rage. "No one is allowed to use this bathroom. It is mine. I died here. I am staying here forever."
Several faucets burst into life, spraying water. Warren watched with interest. Seeing Harry, Ron, and Hermione arrive, he called out, "Don't be angry, Myrtle. Look, I brought some friends."
Myrtle glanced at the three of them without interest. "Sweetheart, I don't want to talk to ugly people. Only you deserve a beauty like me."
The trio was left speechless.
"Alright then." Warren sighed, dropping his shoulders in exaggerated defeat. "I'll take them away for now. We can discuss it later."
Myrtle squeezed herself into a toilet stall, leaving only her pale face peering out. She gave him a shy, watery smile. "Okay. I'll always be here for you, sweetheart."
Ron held his breath until they'd cleared the bathroom, then doubled over. "Merlin's beard, I think I'm going to be sick." He stared at Warren like he'd grown a second head. "How do you put up with her?"
Warren didn't even blink. "Isn't she fascinating? From what I can tell, she's the youngest ghost haunting the castle. She died only a few decades ago. How exactly did she become a ghost? And she can make the taps spray water. None of the other spirits can do that."
Ron and Harry exchanged utterly baffled looks. Only Hermione seemed intrigued, her eyes bright with the thrill of solving a mystery. For the rest of their walk, she peppered Warren with questions about Myrtle.
They climbed the stairs to the seventh floor. Harry, breathless from the ascent, finally spoke up. "Warren, where exactly are we headed?"
"The eighth floor. We're almost there."
On the eighth floor, Warren led them down a corridor until they found a tapestry depicting Barnabas the Barmy attempting to teach trolls to dance ballet.
Stand back a bit. Stay under the tapestry, Warren said.
They exchanged glances but did as they were told. Warren moved to the blank stretch of wall opposite the tapestry and paced before it three times.
Then, something miraculous happened. A smooth door materialized from the solid wall. Warren held it open and gestured for them to follow. Wonderstruck, they stepped inside into a cavernous space, packed floor to ceiling with towers of discarded objects, reaching upward like the spires of some forgotten castle.
Harry, Ron, Hermione, welcome to the Room of Requirement.
Though he had entered the magical world and experienced magic firsthand, Harry found that a room appearing from solid stone still strained his imagination. The space was enormous, larger than a Quidditch pitch. Had he not seen it with his own eyes, he would never have believed such a thing could be hidden within Hogwarts.
The heaps of junk lay in chaotic piles. Broken furniture and intact tables crowded the floor alongside objects he could not begin to identify, some spinning lazily on tabletops, others drifting through the air. He watched, fascinated, as Warren continued.
The Room of Requirement can become whatever you need it to be. You simply have to walk past that stretch of wall three times while thinking about what you require. I needed a place to hide something, and that is precisely what it became.