My partner at Hogwarts is Tom

Chapter 83 The Secret Chamber

The professors also relaxed in their chairs, chatting quietly and enjoying a moment of leisure after the busy holiday.

The house-elves had already quietly begun clearing away the mountain of plates and food scraps piled up on the long table.

Victor also stood up, stretched his somewhat stiff limbs, and prepared to go find Tom, who was probably accepting an invitation to the skeletons' "victory celebration".

However, at that moment...

"Professor! Professor Dumbledore!"

A third-year Gryffindor boy, pale-faced and panting, rushed in through the Great Hall doors, nearly tripping over his own robes.

His voice became shrill and distorted with terror.

Almost simultaneously, more sounds of screams, cries, and incredulous discussions drifted from the corridor outside, like chaotic waves stirred up by a boulder thrown into a calm lake, rapidly approaching from afar.

The relaxed atmosphere on the professor's desk instantly froze.

Dumbledore's smile vanished, and his blue eyes behind his half-moon spectacles sharpened like an eagle's.

Professor McGonagall stood up abruptly, her wand already in her hand.

Snape's thin lips pressed into an even colder straight line.

Victor felt a chill run down his spine, and Tom seemed to sense something as well.

She darted back from the direction of the stage in an instant, landing lightly on his shoulder, her emerald cat eyes looking warily toward the door.

The joyful expression he had during the performance had vanished, leaving only focused vigilance.

"What's going on?" Professor McGonagall asked the boy sternly.

"Outside—the third floor—Mrs. Lorris—and words—how scary—"

Faced with Professor McGonagall's questioning, the boy stammered, his finger trembling as he pointed towards the door.

No further explanation is needed.

Dumbledore strode down from the professor's seat, his robes billowing behind him.

The other professors, including Viktor, followed without hesitation.

Professors Flitwick and Sprout exchanged a glance, then tacitly remained where they were, beginning to reassure the students in the auditorium who were still somewhat panicked and had not yet completely left.

The professors walked quickly in the direction from which the noise was coming.

After turning a corner, a corridor on the third floor that is rarely visited comes into view.

The scene was chilling.

The corridor was already crowded with students who had gathered after hearing the commotion, most of them with expressions of fear, confusion, and intense curiosity.

They tiptoed and peered inside, whispering anxiously to each other, their voices buzzing and creating an unsettling background noise.

At the very front of the crowd, near a damp wall, the scene appeared particularly abrupt and jarring.

Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger stood there alone, their faces pale. Ron's freckles were particularly noticeable in the dim light, and Hermione bit her lower lip tightly.

The caretaker, Filch, nearly lunged at Harry, his thin fingers gripping Harry's pajamas tightly, trembling with extreme anger and grief.

Spit almost landed on Harry's face, and his hoarse voice was full of accusation.

"You! It's you! I know! You hate it! You hate my cat! You—"

Above them, Mrs. Lorris hung stiffly from the cold iron hooks of the torch holders.

It usually struts around the corridor with its tail held high, looking very proud.

At this moment, it resembled a tattered fur rag, its limbs stiffly outstretched, its eyes wide open, pupils dilated, and its last vestiges of terror frozen within them.

Its fur stood on end, and its tail pointed straight down.

What's most chilling is that on the damp stone wall next to us, a dark, sticky light flickers in the flickering torchlight, outlining a line of large characters.

The writing appeared to have been applied with some thick, undried liquid, meandering between the bricks and stones:

The secret room has been opened.

Be wary of those who oppose your heir.

Below the writing, there was a small puddle of water, which gleamed ominously in the dim light.

"Meow—" A cat's cry, almost a sob, came from Victor's shoulder.

Tom leaped off Victor's shoulder with the speed of a black lightning bolt.

It landed lightly beneath the support that held Mrs. Loris, looking up at the stiff body of its former playmate and treat-trading partner, its emerald eyes filled with unbelievable sadness and anger.

With a powerful push from its hind legs, it nimbly leaped onto the wall, hooked its claws onto the support, and with its other claw, quickly and gently removed Mrs. Lorris's stiff body from the hook, cradled it in its arms, and slowly lowered it back to the ground.

Tom laid Mrs. Lorice flat on the cold ground, reached out his paw, and gently, tentatively touched the tip of her nose, then leaned close to listen to her chest.

Then it raised its head and made a series of urgent and anxious meows toward Victor and Dumbledore, gesturing with its paws on Mrs. Lawrence as if it were urgently explaining the situation.

Viktor's heart sank. He quickly stepped forward, knelt down, and examined the area closely.

Dumbledore also came over, his gaze behind his crescent-shaped spectacles deep and solemn. He swept over Mrs. Lorris's stiff body and then slowly moved to the writing on the wall.

Finally, the focus shifted to Harry, who was being held captive by Filch, his face filled with panic and injustice.

"Mr. Filch," Dumbledore's voice was calm, yet carried an undeniable authority, "please release Mr. Potter first."

Filch seemed to want to argue, but under Dumbledore's calm gaze, he reluctantly let go, though his swollen, red eyes remained fixed on Harry, filled with hatred.

Just then, a voice broke in, carrying a deliberate air of calm and eagerness.

"Ah! A terrible attack! But no need to worry, Headmaster Dumbledore! This is the moment to demonstrate my expertise—Giddon Lockhart, a third-class Merlin Order member, an honorary member of the League of Anti-Dark Arts!"

"I have done considerable research on these kinds of evil events, and I discuss in detail how to deal with sudden dark attacks in my books, *Sailing with Vampires* and *Wandering with Werewolves*!"

"How about we go to my office first? It's more—uh—private there, and it'll be easier for us to devise a strategy and find the real culprit!"

Lockhart had somehow squeezed in, wearing an overly ornate crimson robe, and his smile seemed particularly inappropriate, even somewhat comical, for the time and place.

He seemed to see this as yet another stage to showcase his "heroism" and "professional knowledge".

Dumbledore glanced at Lockhart, his gaze calm and unwavering, yet it caused Lockhart's voice to involuntarily lower.

"Very well." Dumbledore nodded. "Minerva, Severus, Victor, and Mr. Filch, and the three of you." He gestured to Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

"We'll talk in Professor Lockhart's office. Felius, Pomona, please keep an eye on things here. Students, please return to the common room as soon as possible; we'll increase patrols tonight."

Professors Flitwick and Sprout, who had just arrived, immediately nodded and began to guide the gathered students in a reassuring but authoritative tone.

Although the students were curious and afraid, they gradually dispersed under the professors' urging, but hushed whispers and uneasy glances still lingered in the corridor.

Dumbledore turned first and walked toward Lockhart's office.

Professor McGonagall, Snape, and Victor followed closely behind.

Filch continued muttering foul language, but followed along.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged a frightened and uneasy glance. Under Professor McGonagall's stern gaze, they could only lower their heads and follow at the back of the group.