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Nearly Headless Nick tried in vain to regain the audience's attention, but Patrick's head was flying wildly through the air amid cheers. His efforts were completely futile, and he was quickly overshadowed.
"I can't take this anymore," Ron muttered. He was not only fed up with the disgusting, terrible party, but his stomach was growling loudly as well.
"There's nothing worth watching anymore. If you don't want to stay, let's leave," George said. He felt they had already gained enough from tonight. As for how to deal with that ghost, it would require long-term research.
"Let's go. I'm hungry too," Harry agreed. He had already helped Nearly Headless Nick—it was time to leave.
The band resumed its harsh, tearing music, and all the ghosts, big and small, drifted back onto the dance floor.
They headed toward the door, passing through ghost after ghost, and finally returned to the corridor, each holding a small candle.
"Maybe there's still some food left," Ron said hopefully. Thinking the feast might not be over, he hurried ahead toward the stairs leading to the Great Hall.
Just then, Harry heard it again.
"Rip… tear you… kill you… rip… kill…"
The same cold, vicious, murderous voice he had heard earlier in Lockhart's office.
He staggered to a stop, leaning against the stone wall, concentrating carefully as he tried to identify where the voice was coming from. He looked around, searching the dim corridor.
"Harry, what's wrong?" Hermione asked, noticing his strange behavior as she came up beside him.
"It's that voice—it's back. Don't talk," Harry said, lifting his head and straining to listen.
"…hungry… so hungry… hungry… too long… far too long…"
Harry heard it again.
"Listen!" he urged urgently, his voice rising.
But no one else heard anything. They all watched him closely.
"…time… to kill…"
The voice faded, moving away.
Harry was certain—it was moving upward.
He stared at the dark ceiling, a mix of excitement and fear surging inside him. How is it moving? How is it passing through solid stone? Could it be a ghost?
"This way!" he shouted, taking the lead.
He ran up the stairs into the Entrance Hall, where the Halloween feast was still lively. Then he dashed up the marble staircase toward the second floor, the others close behind.
"The feast isn't even over yet, and we've already run into trouble again," Ron muttered as he ran.
"Harry, what are we doing—"
"Shh!" Harry signaled him to be quiet. He strained his ears; the sound was coming faintly from above.
"…I smell blood… I smell blood…"
Harry felt his stomach clench. "Someone's going to die," he said in fear.
Ignoring everything else, he sped up, taking the stairs three at a time while listening carefully.
He rushed around the third floor, searching for anything unusual while the others scanned their surroundings.
Until they turned the final corner and reached a long, empty corridor.
Everything seemed normal.
"Harry, what are we looking for?" Ron asked, wiping sweat from his forehead. "I didn't hear anything."
Hermione suddenly gasped and pointed ahead.
"There!"
Something was glowing on the wall in front of them.
George stepped forward, pulled out his wand, and quickly cast several protective spells on everyone.
"Everything can be solved with magic," he said calmly. "If one spell doesn't work, use two."
With the protection in place, they felt slightly reassured. Between two windows, about a foot above the ground, words were written on the wall in a substance that gleamed eerily in the torchlight:
The Chamber of Secrets has been opened again.Enemies of the Heir, beware.
"There's something hanging there," Ron said, his voice trembling as he pointed ahead.
"That's Filch's cat—Mrs. Norris—hanging right under the message," George said.
As they approached, Harry nearly slipped on a large puddle of water on the floor. George caught him. All of them raised their wands and moved forward cautiously.
Then they saw her clearly—and all jumped back in shock, splashing water against their magical shields.
Mrs. Norris looked even more horrifying than before. Her body was stiff as a board, her tail pinned to a torch bracket, her eyes bulging and lifeless like glass.
"Maybe we should just leave," Ron said uneasily. The eerie scene made him want to get away immediately.
"Should we try to save her?" Harry hesitated. Filch wasn't kind, and Mrs. Norris wasn't exactly a good cat—but still…
"Listen, it won't look good if we're found here," Ron insisted. "We're the only ones around. If someone catches us, how are we supposed to explain this?"
"We should preserve the scene," George said after a moment's thought. "Even if it's just a cat, the method seems unusual. And if the Chamber has been opened, this is only the beginning. The more information we have, the better prepared we'll be."
He lowered his voice.
"And… do you remember our old enemy from last year? What happened with the Philosopher's Stone wasn't the end."
"Hey!" Ron grew even more nervous at the mention of that.
"I won't let him succeed," Harry said firmly. He had been working hard to keep that promise—and to prove his own conscience.
(To be continued…)