"Harry Potter- Ravenclaw"Chapter 153: The Office Confrontation
Stepping into Lockhart's office, the trio was greeted by walls plastered with magical photographs—every pose imaginable, from heroic duels to a bedtime portrait featuring Lockhart in a nest of curlers.
All the photos seemed to move in unison, their collective gaze fixed on Harry.
A chill prickled across Harry's scalp. He'd have gladly attended another Deathday Party rather than endure this barrage of Lockhart's attention.
Ron shot a sidelong glance at Lockhart's golden, wavy curls and couldn't help but curl his lip in distaste.
Hermione's focus was entirely on Dumbledore. When she saw Mrs. Norris laid gently atop the desk, she drew in a sharp breath.
Harry and Ron instinctively straightened, exchanging a glance with Hermione—each could see the tension mirrored in the others' eyes.
Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall bent over the desk, their faces grave as they conducted a meticulous examination.
Watching the professors' somber expressions, the trio's nerves twisted into something deeper—an uneasy dread.
And Lockhart's incessant chatter only made things worse, irritation blooming beneath Harry's anxiety.
"The spell used to torment this poor cat must have been some sort of Transfiguration Torture Curse," Lockhart declared, voice dripping with self-importance. "Of course, I know how to break it—but too much time has passed, alas. Nothing can be done now. Such a tragedy..."
At the mention of a possible cure, Filch looked up, hope flickering in his eyes. But as soon as Lockhart explained his "limitations," that hope crumbled, and his sobs grew even more desperate.
Hearing Filch's grief, Harry sighed, a pang of sympathy for the caretaker stirring in his chest.
But he felt even sorrier for himself. If Filch's accusations were believed, this could be his final night at Hogwarts.
...
As Harry drifted into anxious thoughts and Lockhart rambled on, a sharp knock sounded at the door.
Snape and Flitwick entered. Dumbledore straightened and asked, "Well? What did you find?"
"Nothing," Flitwick replied, shaking his head. "I used detection spells, but there's no trace of anything unusual."
Snape also shook his head, his gaze sliding sideways to settle on Harry.
Seeing Harry hunched and uneasy, a glimmer of satisfaction flickered in Snape's eyes—a touch of schadenfreude he didn't bother to hide.
He strode behind Harry, casting a long look at Mrs. Norris lying rigid on the desk.
Harry shivered, a cold sweat prickling down his spine. His unease grew sharper by the second.
Dumbledore approached Filch and spoke gently, "Fortunately, Filch, Mrs. Norris has only been Petrified—she isn't dead."
"This kind of Petrification is extremely powerful—likely a very advanced form of Dark Magic. It leaves almost no trace... certainly far beyond the abilities of a second-year student..."
He paused, then added, "At the very least, Harry and his friends couldn't possibly have done this."
"I knew there was something odd!" Lockhart exclaimed, suddenly enlightened. "Petrification! Just as I suspected!"
Ron's eyes widened as he stared at Lockhart, who looked positively triumphant. He muttered, "How does he stay so confident?"
Normally, Hermione would have snapped back, but tonight's events had left her too shaken to muster a retort.
While Filch exhaled in relief, his suspicion toward Harry remained—he even blurted out that he was a Squib.
During the tense exchange between Harry and Filch—with Harry insisting he didn't even know what a Squib was—Snape, standing at the back, let out a rare, genuine smile. It was the satisfied grin of someone who'd just witnessed a particularly amusing potion mishap.
"I think Mr. Potter has a point. It was all just... coincidence!" Snape drawled, his voice silky and malicious, drawing out the word for effect.
"Coincidentally, he discovered Filch's secret a week ago. Coincidentally, he was first on the scene in that corridor... and, coincidentally, he missed the Halloween feast..."
Hermione and Ron broke out in cold sweats as they listened, scrambling to explain that they'd attended the Deathday Party.
"Professor McGonagall, are you aware of this?" Snape asked, his tone sharp. "They don't seem to have learned their lesson—just like last Halloween..."
Professor McGonagall shook her head and sighed quietly, her thoughts drifting momentarily to Wyzett, who'd just reported in.
Harry seemed to recall something as well and blurted, "Wyzett and the others can vouch for us—we really did go to the Deathday Party!"
"Wyzett..." Snape narrowed his eyes, his voice dropping to a menacing murmur. "If that's the case, what about after the party?"
"Why didn't you return? You might've caught a few falling sweets—filled your bellies a bit."
"We weren't hungry!" Ron blurted out, his voice a little too loud.
Unfortunately, the rumbling protest of his stomach was even louder, drowning out his words.
"Heh..." Snape gave a cold, mirthless laugh. "Not hungry, then? So you should've gone back to your common room, shouldn't you?"
"As far as I know... you don't have to pass through that corridor to get from the dungeons to Gryffindor Tower..."
Ron muttered under his breath, "How does he know the castle better than we do?"
Snape's face twitched, as if reminded of some unpleasant memory. "Headmaster, it's obvious Potter is hiding something."
"Even if we set aside the Deathday Party, he still can't explain why he was in that corridor."
At this, Professor McGonagall stiffened, her voice cutting through the tension. "Headmaster Dumbledore has already said that Harry and his friends couldn't possibly perform such Dark Magic."
"And if Professor Snape has any real evidence, he should present it—instead of relying on baseless speculation."
"Besides, Hogwarts is enormous, with countless corridors. They're free to choose their route back to Gryffindor Tower."
The trio looked up at Professor McGonagall, their eyes shining with gratitude.
Dumbledore spoke up, "Is there anything else you'd like to add? For example, did you see anyone suspicious when you arrived?"
Both Hermione and Ron started to turn away, then quickly shook their heads.
Harry did the same. "No, Headmaster Dumbledore. Nothing else."
Seeing the three of them echo each other's movements, Dumbledore gave a knowing, almost amused nod. "Very well. You may go and get some rest."
The trio let out a collective sigh of relief, feeling as if they'd just dodged a curse.
Filch shrieked, "They're leaving? But what about my Mrs. Norris?"
Dumbledore replied calmly, "We've recently planted a batch of Mandrakes. Once they're mature, we'll be able to brew a potion to cure her Petrification."
Lockhart shot up like a spring, beaming. "Mandrake Restorative Draught! I know all about it! No one knows more about restorative potions than I do!"
Flitwick, Sprout, and McGonagall all raised their eyebrows, surprised that Lockhart actually knew the name of the potion.
Snape, however, wore a thunderous expression. "Odd, I thought I was the Potions Master... Perhaps you'd like to trade places?"
"Or maybe you'd prefer to contribute your wand—toss it in the cauldron? It doesn't seem to obey you anyway... always slipping to the floor..."
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