"What's going on? What happened?"
Without sparing even a moment to mourn Malfoy's recent humiliation, Filch the caretaker rushed onto the scene.
He shoved through the crowd with his shoulders—then saw Mrs. Norris.
He staggered back, clutching his face in horror.
"My cat! My cat! What's happened to Mrs. Norris?!" he shrieked.
Then—
His bulging eyes locked onto Harry.
"You!" he screamed. "You! You killed my cat! You killed her! I'll kill you! I'll—!"
Lewis stepped forward, his tone calm but firm.
"Mr. Filch, Mrs. Norris isn't dead. She's been petrified."
Filch froze. "Really? You swear?! No… no, she—she…"
At that moment, the crowd parted.
Dumbledore arrived, followed by Professor McGonagall.
"Headmaster! Professor Dumbledore! Please—look at Mrs. Norris!" Filch pleaded, all his hope pinned on the white wizard.
Dumbledore glanced at the students, then at the writing on the wall, before crouching down to examine the rigid cat carefully.
Behind him, Filch was nearly incoherent with panic.
"Headmaster—Mr. Green said she's not dead. That's true, right?"
Dumbledore nodded.
"She is alive."
He gently removed the petrified cat from the torch bracket.
"Come with me, Filch," he said softly. "And Mr. Green, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley—I'll need your assistance."
"The rest of you, return to your dormitories."
Lockhart immediately rushed forward.
"My office is closest, Headmaster—right this way—you can—"
"Thank you, Gilderoy."
The silent crowd parted to let them pass.
Lockhart looked thrilled, practically glowing with importance as he hurried after Dumbledore.
In his mind, he was already planning how to rewrite this incident in his next book—with himself as the hero.
Professor McGonagall and Snape followed as well.
Hermione didn't leave.
She stayed close behind Lewis.
Inside Lockhart's office, Dumbledore placed Mrs. Norris on the desk and continued examining her while asking the students what had happened.
Behind him, the students exchanged glances.
Harry silently mouthed to Lewis and Hermione: "This has nothing to do with me."
But he quickly stopped.
Because Snape was standing behind them—half-hidden in shadow—staring at him with a cold, predatory gaze.
It made Harry deeply uncomfortable.
He suddenly remembered Lewis mentioning Snape's receding hairline…
At that moment, Harry felt he'd gladly donate his own hair to Snape—just to be left alone.
Meanwhile, the most active person in the room was, unsurprisingly—
Lockhart.
He circled Dumbledore constantly, talking nonstop.
"It must have been a curse! Likely a Transfiguration Torture Curse. I've seen it used many times—such a pity I wasn't there. I know the exact counter-curse—I could have saved her…"
Dumbledore ignored him and continued his inspection.
"I recall a very similar case in Wagadu," Lockhart went on. "A series of attacks—fully documented in my autobiography. I provided protective charms, solved everything at once—"
"Mrs. Norris has been petrified."
Dumbledore cut him off.
"Ah! That's exactly what I was thinking," Lockhart immediately agreed, as if he hadn't just said something entirely different. "No one understands petrification better than I do."
Behind him, Lewis and the others covered their mouths, trying not to laugh.
Harry nearly lost it.
After suffering through Lockhart's classes, this was oddly satisfying.
But his amusement didn't last long.
Because the attention shifted—
Back to him.
"It was Harry!" Filch accused. "You saw the writing on the wall!"
"Harry, what did you do to Mrs. Norris?!"
Lockhart, having just embarrassed himself, seized the opportunity to redirect suspicion.
"I didn't touch her!" Harry shouted. "When I got there, she was already like that!"
"Headmaster, if I may," Snape said suddenly.
"Of course."
"Perhaps Potter simply shouldn't have been in that corridor at that time."
Harry blinked in disbelief.
Was Snape… defending him?
No.
He quickly realized his mistake.
"But there are still several questions," Snape continued. "Why was he there? Why did he not attend the Halloween feast?"
"I was at Nearly Headless Nick's Deathday Party! There were hundreds of ghosts—they can prove it—"
Harry rushed to explain.
Unfortunately—
No ghosts were present.
Then he turned to Lewis.
"Wait—we were with Lewis and Hermione before that! They can confirm it!"
Lewis nodded.
"That's correct. I personally saw them heading to the Deathday Party."
"And afterward?" Snape pressed, his dark eyes glinting. "Why didn't you return to the feast?"
"Because… because…" Harry stammered. "I was tired. I went to bed."
"Without dinner?" Snape's smile turned sharper. "I imagine ghostly cuisine isn't suitable for the living."
"…We—we ate!" Ron blurted out. "We had bread!"
He pulled out a thumb-sized piece of black bread.
It was so hard it looked like a brick.
"You ignored a feast… for that?" Snape sneered.
"Because… because I like black bread!" Ron said desperately. "It's delicious!"
To prove it, he stuffed the rock-hard piece into his mouth and started chewing.
Lewis could practically hear the sound of someone biting into a brick.
Finally, Dumbledore spoke.
"Until proven guilty, Harry is innocent, Severus."
Then he turned to Filch.
"Petrification requires extremely advanced dark magic. A second-year student could not have done this."
Behind him, Lewis silently shook his head.
That wasn't entirely true.
He could do it.
Having mastered the Transmutation specialization, upon reaching Level 11 as a wizard, he had already learned Petrification and Remove Petrification—both sixth-tier spells.
Not the temporary stiffness of a simple Body-Bind Curse—
But true petrification.
Like Medusa's gaze.
Irreversible without the proper counterspell.
And yet—
He was still just a second-year.
Of course, even though he could reverse it—
He had no intention of revealing that now.
His performance at the Halloween feast had already drawn enough attention.
He needed fame—
But not too much, too quickly.
Mrs. Norris alone wasn't worth exposing himself.
If the attacks continued, and the school failed to respond—
If fear spread—
Then would be the right time.
As for now—
Even provoking Dumbledore required restraint.
Dumbledore continued, reassuring Filch.
"Professor Sprout has planted mandrakes this term. Once they mature, we can brew a potion to restore Mrs. Norris."
"I can prepare it," Lockhart cut in. "I've done it a hundred times—I could brew a Mandrake Restorative Draught in my sleep! No one understands it better than I do."
Sure, you understand everything, Lewis thought dryly.
Why not go compete with some politician for the title of 'the one who knows everything'?
Right on cue—
Another interruption.
"You won't need to," Snape said coldly. "I am the Potions Master."
"What a pity," Lockhart sighed dramatically. "You'll regret it, Severus."
At last, the situation reached a temporary conclusion.
Lewis and the others were dismissed—
And returned to their dormitories.
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