My partner at Hogwarts is Tom

Chapter 84 Curse and Arrangement

Lockhart seemed excited to finally be in charge, and strode ahead to lead the way, talking incessantly.

"I have some treasured defensive artifacts in my office, as well as a personally concocted stimulant that's very helpful in dealing with this kind of shock—oh, this way, watch out for the steps—"

Lockhart's office, which was almost entirely filled with his own portraits and books, was at this moment filled with an atmosphere that was the complete opposite of its owner's "luxurious" style, heavy with a sense of unease.

In the various picture frames, young Lockhart, smiling and striking various dashing poses, seems completely oblivious to the tense atmosphere inside, continuing to wink or comb her hair, which appears particularly absurd.

The air was filled with Lockhart's overly sweet cologne, mixed with an indescribable chill emanating from Mrs. Lorris's stiff body.

The large desk had been temporarily cleared out and covered with a dark velvet cloth. Mrs. Lorris lay silently on it, like a roughly made cat-shaped stone sculpture.

Its posture remained frozen in terror as it was attacked; every bristling hair was still in place, and its amber pupils were wide open, as if still reflecting the horrific scene it had just witnessed.

Tom stood guard by the table, no longer pacing anxiously as before, but sitting quietly. His once gleaming emerald cat eyes were now dull and lifeless as he stared fixedly at Mrs. Lorris.

With its gloved paws, it gently wiped away non-existent tears from the corners of its eyes, making soft, suppressed whimpering sounds in its throat.

Headmaster Dumbledore leaned so close that his long silver beard almost brushed against Mrs. Lorris's fur.

His deep blue eyes, peering through his crescent-shaped glasses, scrutinized every detail intently. His slender fingers gently examined the cat's eyelids, then slowly pressed down along its stiff spine.

His brows furrowed slightly, his expression unusually serious and focused, and his crooked nose almost touched Mrs. Loris's body, as if he were sniffing out the lingering scent of magic.

Professor McGonagall stood close to Dumbledore, her lips pressed into a resolute line, the tip of her wand glowing with a soft, steady white light that illuminated the fine texture and veins beneath Mrs. Norris's fur.

Her eyes were sharp as a scalpel, not missing a single abnormality.

Professor Snape, like a somber shadow, leaned against a bookshelf in the distance, arms crossed, his black robe almost blending into the shadows.

His obsidian-like eyes coldly swept over the people around the desk, especially lingering on the Harry trio, a more mocking smile curving his lips as if silently blaming them for the trouble they had caused.

Victor stood on the other side of Dumbledore, his wand hovering very slowly and steadily across Mrs. Norris's back, limbs, and head.

His brows were furrowed, and there seemed to be subtle, almost imperceptible, magical ripples between the tip of his wand and the cat's stiff body.

The sensation transmitted through the wand to the fingertips was not the softness and warmth of a living thing, but rather a thorough, bone-deep hardness and coldness, like touching a piece of granite just taken from an ice cellar.

He could clearly sense a sinister, ancient curse, filled with resentment and coldness, clinging to Lady Lorris's life core like a maggot, forming a solid stone cage that imprisoned and froze her life force.

But—it is not death.

Deep within that core of life, a faint, flickering vitality, like a candle in the wind, remained firmly protected at the heart of the petrification curse, never extinguished.

Victor breathed a sigh of relief, temporarily moved his wand away, and turned to speak softly to Tom, who was staring intently at him.

"Don't worry, Tom. She's just petrified, a very powerful curse, but she's still alive."

Tom suddenly raised his head, his ears twitched, and the sadness in his eyes was replaced by a glimmer of hope.

It stretched out its paw, seemingly wanting to touch Mrs. Lorris again, but ultimately refrained, simply nodding vigorously and letting out a short, grateful "meow."

Almost at the same moment, Dumbledore also straightened up, his blue eyes, which always sparkled with wisdom, now filled with a sense of understanding and heaviness.

He turned to Filch, who was almost slumped in his chair, his voice still gentle but carrying an undeniable certainty.

"Argus, I have good news for you. Mrs. Lorris is not dead."

Filch's cloudy eyes widened suddenly, a glimmer of light emerging from the abyss of despair.

Dumbledore continued, "It was petrified. It was the effect of an extremely ancient and powerful curse. Very thorough, but—reversible."

"What we need is the mandrake regeneration potion. Once this batch in Professor Sprout's greenhouse matures, Severus will be able to concoct the antidote. It will get better."

"Petrification?"

Filch muttered to himself, his thin fingers twisting together, his gaze shifting between Dumbledore's calm face and the stiff cat on the table.

Hope was rekindled, but what followed was an even stronger surge of anger and fear that needed to be released.

He suddenly turned to Harry, who was cowering against the wall, his gaze like a poisoned knife.

"It's you! It must be you!" Filch roared, his voice even more hoarse from excitement and prolonged shouting.

"You hate it! You hate it for always catching you in the hallway for breaking school rules! You hate me! I know! You—you—"

He seemed to be trying to find the most vicious words, but his speech was slurred with anger.

"You filthy, vulgar, despicable little thing—"

"Mr. Filch," Professor McGonagall interrupted him sternly, her voice as cold as ice, "calm down! Accusations without evidence are meaningless!"

"Evidence?! He was there! And these two too!" Filch pointed at Ron and Hermione, spitting as he spoke. "They're in cahoots! They—"

"Filch," Dumbledore's voice wasn't loud, but it carried a strange penetrating power, instantly overpowering Filch's roar.

"To petrify a cat to such an extent, as you can see, without even a struggle or a slow petrification, but an instantaneous and complete solidification, requires the most profound knowledge of dark magic, something a second-year student could never master."

His gaze swept over Harry, Ron, and Hermione's terrified, pale faces. "I believe they can't do that."

"

Filch's face turned a deep purplish-red, his lips trembled, gripped by despair and helplessness, and he screamed almost incoherently.

"Who else could it be? Huh?! I know what you all think of me! A useless, magic-incapable Squib! Guarding this castle, I can't even protect my own cat! My Loris—my—"

He covered his face, his shoulders shaking violently, his anger instantly transforming into a deeper, more heartbreaking pain and inferiority.

An awkward silence fell over the office.

Lockhart opened his mouth, seemingly wanting to offer some "insights" to ease the tension or demonstrate his understanding of this kind of "psychological trauma."

But under Professor McGonagall's stern glare and Snape's undisguised mockery, she wisely shut her mouth, only awkwardly adjusting her ornate collar.

The words on the wall: "The secret room has been opened." These words haunted everyone's minds like a ghost.

As Victor looked at Filch's pained expression and recalled the sticky, ominous writing on the wall, a sudden thought flashed through his mind.

He scratched his head subconsciously, a strange expression on his face.

"The secret room—" he muttered to himself, his voice not loud, but it was exceptionally clear in the quiet office.

Seeing that everyone was looking over, Viktor cleared his throat and said somewhat helplessly.

"Speaking of this—I suddenly remembered, many years ago, when I was still studying at Hogwarts—"

"Yes, I had some 'physical interaction' with a certain Slytherin guy."

"He was beaten black and blue by me, and he was still yelling angrily that Slytherin had left a secret chamber in the castle, where a terrifying monster was hidden, and only his true heir could open it to purge those in the school who were not worthy of learning magic—"

He paused, noticing Dumbledore's thoughtful expression and Professor McGonagall's suddenly furrowed brow, and added.

"At the time, I just thought he was upset about losing and made up a story to scare people, or to boast about the 'great legacy' of their academy's founder. So many years have passed, I'd almost forgotten about it. But now it seems—"

His gaze fell on the stiff Mrs. Lorris on the table and on the void that seemed to still be filled with an ominous aura.

"That annoying guy—maybe he wasn't completely bluffing?"

"Salazar Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets—" Professor McGonagall gasped, her face turning extremely pale. "This—this can it really be true? The legendary one—"

"Where there's smoke, there's fire," Dumbledore said slowly, his fingers unconsciously twirling the tip of his beard, his blue eyes gleaming with unfathomable light.

"The legend of the Chamber of Secrets has indeed persisted among the descendants of Slytherin and some ancient families. 'Purge the unworthy'—that does resonate somewhat with the warning on the wall."

He glanced at Filch, who was still immersed in grief and anger, and said meaningfully, "Mrs. Lorris is not a wizard."

Snape broke the silence with a barely audible snort.

His dark eyes, like cold, deep pools, turned to the pale-faced Harry trio, and he spoke slowly, his voice smooth and malicious.

"So, perhaps it's not a coincidence that our—the famous Mr. Potter, and his loyal friends—were at the crime scene tonight? A death anniversary party—what a perfect, inconspicuous reason. Perhaps they know something—about the heir, or the entrance to the secret chamber?"

"We didn't!" Harry immediately retorted loudly, his face flushed with anger and grievance.

"We just went to Nick's party! We didn't know anything! We certainly didn't open any secret room!"

"We don't even know where the secret room is!" Ron chimed in hastily.

"Professor," Hermione said, trying to remain calm, but her voice was still trembling.

"We've been at the anniversary celebrations all along; many ghosts can testify to that. Besides, how could we possibly possess the kind of magic that could instantly petrify Mrs. Lorris?"

Snape simply looked down at them, the corner of his mouth curving with distrust, as if to say "slip of the tongue."

"Severus," Dumbledore said calmly.

"I believe they are telling the truth. At least, they lack the ability and knowledge to cast such powerful dark magic. As for whether they accidentally witnessed something or were drawn into it—"

He hesitated for a moment. "They've had quite a fright tonight. Minerva, take them back to Gryffindor Tower first. Remember," he said, looking at the three children.

"Don't mention what happened tonight to anyone until the matter is fully investigated. Go straight back to your dorm, understand?"

Professor McGonagall nodded sternly, signaling Harry and his two friends to follow.

The three felt as if they had been granted a pardon. They quickly lowered their heads and hurriedly followed Professor McGonagall out of the suffocating office filled with Lockhart's eerie smile and self-portrait.

The atmosphere in the office didn't lighten much after they left.

Filch, holding Mrs. Lorris's stiff body, also left dejectedly, preparing to head to the medical wing.

The door closed, isolating the outside world.

The remaining professors were Dumbledore, Snape, Victor, and Lockhart.

"Well then," Dumbledore broke the silence first, his tone regaining its usual composure, but his eyes remained sharp.

Regardless of the legend's veracity or the identity of the heir, one thing is clear: an extremely dangerous dark magic force with a clear intent to attack has emerged within Hogwarts. Mrs. Norris is the first victim, but may not be the last.

"We must act immediately to find out the source of this power and whether the so-called 'secret chamber' truly exists," Professor McGonagall's voice was resolute.

"I suggest," Snape's voice rang out coldly.

"We will conduct rigorous screening and monitoring of all students, especially those whose lineage may be questionable." He paused meaningfully.

Victor frowned, but said nothing.

Dumbledore shook his head: "Unless there is conclusive evidence pointing to a specific group, Severus, a large-scale investigation will only cause unnecessary panic and division. The priority is to ensure the safety of all students and to find out the truth as soon as possible."

He surveyed the crowd: "We need to conduct a thorough, meticulous, carpet search of the castle. Start from the oldest and most secluded corners, looking for any possible secret chamber entrances, unusual magical fluctuations, or—signs of other victims."

"Minerva, you'll be in charge of coordinating the professors' patrol shifts and areas. Severus, your potion knowledge might help us analyze the composition of the writing residue on the wall. Victor,"

He looked at Victor, "Your knowledge of ancient magic and magical creatures, and your Tom—may be able to spot some clues we've overlooked."

Victor nodded solemnly. Tom also lifted his head from his shoulder, his emerald cat eyes gleaming with determination, as if to say, "Leave it to me."

"And what about me, Headmaster!" Lockhart puffed out his chest eagerly, his face once again sporting that smug smile.

"I believe my practical experience and defensive knowledge are exactly what's needed right now! I could easily lead a search team or provide emergency defense training for students! You know, I mentioned this in my book, 'Breaking Up with the Ghost'—"

"Giddon," Dumbledore interrupted him gently but firmly.

"Your office has an excellent location with a great view. Perhaps we could have you stay here as a liaison and support center? After all, we need a stable base of operations."

Lockhart's smile froze for a moment, clearly dissatisfied with this arrangement of "sitting in the back."

But facing Dumbledore, he dared not say anything more, and could only nod awkwardly and mutter to himself.

"Oh, of course, a stable rear is crucial—I'll ensure uninterrupted communication here—"

No one paid attention to the resentment in his words; Dumbledore made the final decision.

"There's no time to lose. We'll increase patrols tonight. Tomorrow morning, we'll develop a detailed search plan. Everyone, please remain vigilant until the truth comes out! The safety of Hogwarts is in your hands."

""