Because Phineas used the Disillusionment Charm, he was not discovered by Filch. However, it clearly wasn't the right time to return to the common room—Filch was still patrolling the corridors. If the Slytherin common room entrance were to open, it would surely catch his attention.
Still, staying hidden under the Disillusionment Charm wasn't a wise option either. Phineas was only a first-year student, and even adult wizards struggled to maintain that spell for extended periods.
Filch remained in the library, clearly obsessed with catching whoever had disturbed the peace.
Seeing this, Phineas didn't dare remain any longer. He slipped out through the slightly ajar door, careful not to make a sound.
Outside in the corridor, he exhaled a quiet sigh of relief. Though Filch was a Squib, he was not to be underestimated. He had been Hogwarts' caretaker for decades—even during Sirius's school years.
To control dozens of young witches and wizards despite lacking magic himself was no small feat. If not for his Squib status, Filch might have been a formidable wizard. But being born into a pure-blood family and lacking magic had left him bitter and extreme. His resentment toward magical students was palpable.
Hogwarts was peaceful at night, a stark contrast to the lively feast from just hours ago.
The portraits on the walls were mostly fast asleep. Phineas kept his wand unlit, moving by moonlight alone. Even so, he occasionally disturbed a dozing painting with his footsteps.
Eventually, he reached the seventh floor, home to the Headmaster's office. But that wasn't his destination. He stopped instead in front of a tapestry depicting Barnabas the Barmy attempting to teach ballet to trolls.
This was the secret entrance to the Room of Requirement—a chamber even long-time Hogwarts students rarely knew about. Hidden behind the tapestry, the entrance would only appear if the seeker concentrated on what they needed, then walked past the wall three times.
Phineas thought firmly, I need a place to rest, and paced in front of the wall. As expected, a smooth, handleless door emerged.
He opened it and stepped into a luxurious lounge. Without hesitation, he collapsed onto the plush bed and fell fast asleep.
The next morning, the shrill ringing of a magical pocket watch startled him awake. It was a family heirloom—enchanted to detect evil magic nearby and serve as an alarm. Phineas always kept it with him. In his position, caution was survival.
Though it was the weekend, today the class schedules were being handed out in the Great Hall. If Phineas missed it, he'd have to ask Kreacher to prepare meals separately. So despite his fatigue, he forced himself up.
The castle by day was nothing like it was at night. Everything buzzed with life, and magic seemed to pulse through the very stones.
Hogwarts had 142 staircases—some broad and steady, others narrow and rickety. Some changed destinations or vanished without warning. Others required polite requests or specific actions to open. Some doors weren't doors at all, merely illusions on solid walls.
Even the portraits wandered, visiting one another. Armor clanked restlessly in the corridors, and statues offered no reliable landmarks.
The sheer unpredictability of it all was overwhelming. Compared to No. 12 Grimmauld Place, Hogwarts was a marvel of enchanted chaos.
After breakfast, Phineas had planned to explore the castle more thoroughly. Unfortunately, he had underestimated his situation.
The night before, only a handful of students—those from magical families—had known who he was and shunned him. But word had spread overnight. Gossip traveled fast in a school full of curious, chatty students.
Phineas had been the only student at the Sorting Ceremony to be openly rejected by a House. Naturally, everyone wanted to know why.
Now, not only had Slytherin turned its back on him, but it seemed the rest of the school had too.
At breakfast, no one sat beside him. Even students from other Houses avoided the seats nearby.
Afterward, in the corridors, students paused upon seeing him—then quickly walked away, as though merely sharing air with him was dangerous.
Wherever he went, Phineas felt the weight of stares and heard the hush of whispers trailing behind him. It was deeply irritating.
Maybe Hogwarts wasn't the sanctuary he had imagined. Perhaps Beauxbatons had been the better choice. But it was too late for regrets.
The Sorting was over. The choice had been made. And whatever he had left behind—especially Skuller—was already gone.