HP: Azkaban's Outstanding Graduate

On the professors' chairs, Dumbledore's seat became a throne of bones, while the other professors' seats became tombstones.

Even the once-busy house-elves have all turned into rotting zombies, mechanically twisting their bodies and serving up all sorts of delicious food.

The entire Hogwarts was experiencing a carnival; the young wizards had never had such a fun Halloween.

Of course, Harry, his two friends, and their companions were an exception. They had been invited to the anniversary dinner of "Nick the Nearly Headless," and spent the entire night in the underground classroom watching a group of ghosts sing a requiem.

“Did you see the decorations in the hallway when you passed by just now? Those pumpkins that spray candy—” Ron’s voice sounded a bit out of place in the cold, dark underground classroom.

"Shh!" Hermione glared at him. "Sir Nico is giving a speech."

The nearly headless Nico floated before a pile of rotting entrails, reciting a five-hundred-year-old elegy in a melancholy tone. The other ghosts joined in, humming a requiem, their voices like fingernails scraping across a blackboard.

Ron stared at the moldy food on the long table, his stomach rumbling. "What a waste. We could have enjoyed a delicious meal in the Great Hall instead of watching a bunch of ghosts eat rotting entrails..."

“Stop complaining, at least it’s educational,” Hermione said insincerely. “Besides, we can’t break our promises, or they’ll be sad…”

"But……"

"Stop talking, Ron, we're already here," Harry said listlessly.

They finally made it to the end and came out of the underground classroom. Just as they were about to head to the Great Hall for something to eat, Harry suddenly heard that voice again.

"Kill...kill you...tear you apart..."

"Did you hear that?" Harry suddenly turned to his two companions.

"what?"

"That voice!"

"You mean the sound of bats? I heard it..."

"No, it's that voice saying they're going to kill someone!"

Ron and Hermione's eyes widened immediately.

"Is this a Halloween joke?" Ron asked tentatively, a stiff smile still on his face.

“I’m not kidding!” Harry said seriously. “This way, it’s going this way!”

He then ran upstairs, and Ron and Hermione had no choice but to follow.

Finally, they stopped, panting, in a dimly lit corridor. The fog was dissipating, and something on the wall flickered in the torchlight. The three slowly approached, squinting—

The secret chamber has been opened. Beware of those who oppose the heir.

The bright red characters flowed like blood across the stone wall. Ron chuckled dryly, "Is this part of the decoration too? It's really realistic, though I don't understand what it means..."

His voice trailed off. By the flickering firelight, they could make out the shadow hanging on the wall—Mrs. Lorris's stiff body, her tail held straight up, her eyes wide open.

"This is……"

“Mrs. Lorris!” Hermione said sternly.

Just then, a low murmur arose from both sides of the corridor. The banquet in the auditorium had ended, and the students, having enjoyed their meal, were chatting and laughing happily as they embarked on the path leading to the lounge.

Hermione suddenly grabbed their arms: "We have to get out of here!"

But her warning came too late.

The crowd surged forward like a tide, completely blocking both ends of the corridor.

The noise abruptly stopped, as if an invisible hand had choked them. All the students froze, staring at the stiff cat on the wall.

"What...what kind of prank is this?" a Hufflepuff student asked, his voice trembling. "There was nothing there when we passed by just now..."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood in the middle of the corridor, surrounded by students who receded like a tide, leaving them isolated in an open space. The corridor was packed with people at both ends, but no one dared to approach.

"Keep going! Don't stop!" Filch's hoarse voice came from the back of the crowd. "If we stop, those damn claws will rip our shoes off, and I'll have to spend another night cleaning them! Keep going!"

He roughly shoved aside the students blocking his way and stumbled to the front. But when he saw what was hanging on the wall, his wrinkled face instantly contorted.

"Mrs. Lorris?!" His voice was like a rooster being strangled. He staggered back a few steps, his hand trembling as he covered his mouth. "No...no! Who did it? Who did it?!"

His eyes bulged out, and his gaze, like that of a venomous snake, swept through the crowd before finally locking onto Harry and his two companions standing at the very front.

"It was you..." His voice was hoarse with rage, "You killed her! I'll make you pay! I'll—"

He lunged forward, his withered fingers reaching for Harry like eagle claws. The three of them retreated in terror; Ron even knocked over the armor behind him, the loud crash echoing down the corridor.

"Calm down, Argus."

Dumbledore's voice was like a bucket of cold water poured over him. The old headmaster's long, silvery beard gleamed in the torchlight as he slowly stepped forward, gently removing Mrs. Lawrence from the wall for a careful examination.

“Come to my office, Headmaster!” Lockhart suddenly squeezed forward, his face showing exaggerated concern. “My office is the closest, and—” he lowered his voice, “I happen to have some professional insights into dark magic.”

“Thank you, Gilderoy.” Dumbledore nodded calmly, then turned to Filch and the three students. “You, come with me.”

The crowd parted silently to make way, with Dumbledore leading the way, followed by Filch carrying Mrs. Norris, Harry and his two companions looking pale, and a group of professors with varying expressions.

Chapter 74 The Legend of the Locked Room

The group rushed to Lockhart's office, with Sagres being the last to enter, closing the door behind him.

Mrs. Lorris was gently placed by Dumbledore on Lockhart's flamboyant gold desk—on which were several hardcover signed copies of "I Am Magic," the cover of which Lockhart's smile appeared particularly dazzling in the candlelight.

Several professors crowded around, scrutinizing the cat like a flock of vultures. Professor McGonagall stroked the cat's stiff fur, Snape tapped the cat's head with his knuckles, and Dumbledore poked its upturned tail.

Lockhart paced back and forth behind the group, chattering on and on about his opinions:

"It appears to have been killed by an extremely malevolent curse, and I happen to know one—the Transfiguration Torture Curse. I'm pretty sure it's that spell. It's a pity I wasn't there at the time, otherwise I might have had a chance to save her..."

Upon hearing this, Filch's sobs suddenly intensified. His bloodshot eyes were fixed on Harry and the other two, and his thin fingers dug several white marks into the edge of the table.

Sagres barely suppressed the urge to slap Lockhart in the throat, and rolled his eyes in exasperation. Unfortunately, Dumbledore happened to see that look.

"What are your thoughts, Sagres?"

“Petrified,” Sagres replied expressionlessly. It was an obvious fact if they had been exposed to enough dark magic.

“It seems we share the same view.” Dumbledore nodded.

“Ah? Oh, right, I think so too, petrification…” Lockhart said confidently, “Hey, it seems experienced people always agree, don’t they?”

The room fell silent. Professor McGonagall was pinching the bridge of her nose, Snape's lips twitched slightly, and even Dumbledore quietly adjusted his glasses.

Sagres was very curious; he wondered why so many people present could tolerate Lockhart's clown-like behavior.

At the same time, he also reflected on himself, realizing that he was not mature enough. He looked at others and wondered why they could tolerate things while he could not.

Filch's whimper broke the eerie silence. The administrator, who usually struck fear into the hearts of students, was now hunched over, gently stroking his beloved cat with his calloused hands.

In this magical castle, only this cat never mocked his Squib status, would quietly curl up at his feet while he polished his armor, and would always stand by his side.

“She’s not dead, Argus…” Dumbledore’s hand gently rested on Filch’s trembling shoulder. “She’s just petrified. Once Professor Sprout’s mandrake matures, we can immediately concoct the antidote, and then Mrs. Lorris will be able to return to you.”

“And the murderer?” Filch looked up abruptly, tears streaming down his wrinkled face. “Was my Lady Lorris just suffering in vain?”

His withered fingers pointed at Harry and his two companions, his eyes filled with undisguised hatred.

“It wasn’t them, Argus,” Dumbledore said firmly. “Second-year students couldn’t do that; they couldn’t use such advanced dark magic!”

"Who was that? Who petrified my cat? Won't someone be punished for this tonight?"

“We will find out the truth!” Dumbledore said patiently to Filch. “And I assure you, we will prepare the antidote as soon as the mandrake matures.”

“That’s right, I’ll prepare it,” Lockhart interjected. “To be honest, I could even prepare this potion with my eyes closed. I’ve prepared it at least a hundred times, maybe two hundred…”

“Excuse me…” Snape interjected at the opportune moment, “Perhaps I am the Potions Professor at this school?”

An awkward silence fell over the room once again.

In fact, Sagres had the healing potion Nightingale had given him when he dealt with the venomous leopard last time in his pocket. It was a potent potion made primarily from mandrake and phoenix tears.

However, he doesn't plan to take it out; it would be too wasteful, especially since the object is a cat.

"Go back first, Argus. Don't worry too much, Lady Lorice will be safe and sound."

Filch walked hunched over to the door, his withered fingers lingering on the doorknob for a moment.

When he turned around, a chilling glint flashed in his cloudy eyes: "If I find out who did it..."

Sagles moved his fingers, and the door slammed shut, abruptly ending Filch's unfinished words.

The air in the room instantly felt lighter. Dumbledore turned to the crowd: "What are your thoughts?"

Snape spoke slowly, like a bat that had caught the scent of blood: "Interestingly..."

His drawn-out tone sent chills down the spines of Harry and his two friends. "Our famous Mr. Potter has once again appeared at the crime scene. Of course, I'm not saying they are the murderers, because they certainly don't have the ability, but there are indeed many suspicious points in this matter."

“We attended Nick’s death anniversary party! The ghosts can vouch for us!” Harry and his two friends immediately rushed to explain, but Snape clearly wasn’t going to let them off the hook.

Just then, Filch, who had left, returned, carrying a shoe in his hand.

"This was found at the scene, and I think it's very likely left by the murderer!"

Ron recognized the shoe immediately. "That's Ginny's shoe. It must have been torn off during the chaos. She's only been in school for a little over a month. How could she be the culprit!"

Upon hearing this, Dumbledore took the shoes from Filch's hands. "Thank you, Argus." Then he gently handed the shoes to Ron: "I think Miss Weasley will need these."

The door was closed again, and the focus of attention returned to the trio.

“Now, back to the main point,” Snape said, staring at the three of them with an unfriendly tone, “I believe Harry Potter cannot participate in Quidditch until the matter is clarified!”

“Nonsense!” Professor McGonagall exclaimed angrily. “The cat wasn’t hit on the head by Harry’s flying broomstick, so what reason is there not to let him participate in the competition?”

In the end, it was Professor McGonagall who argued her case, and the three of them were finally freed from the trouble and allowed to leave the office.

“I still don’t think they’re telling the truth, Headmaster.” Snape still hadn’t given up trying.

“But there is no evidence to prove that they are involved!” Professor McGonagall still did not give up defending her students.

"What do you think, Sagres?"

Sagres tapped Lockhart's ostentatious gold desk lightly with his long fingers, and slowly spoke under everyone's gaze: "More than finding out who the murderer is... I'm more concerned with how they did it."

He slowly walked to the window: "Such a powerful petrification effect requires very strong magic and skill—if it was really done by a student, then it must be at least NEWTs level of black magic expertise, and only Durmstrang's student could do it."

"so……"