The search that night was like a pebble tossed into a deep pool—it caused a few initial ripples, only to be quickly swallowed by the boundless, silent darkness.
The professors swept through the corridors, staircases, abandoned classrooms, and empty galleries. The light from their wands illuminated faces that were heavy with exhaustion and grim determination.
Professor McGonagall had drafted an airtight patrol grid. Professor Flitwick scrutinized every tapestry and carving that might conceal a hidden mechanism or secret door. Professor Sprout even inspected the soil of the castle's massive potted plants and the moss growing near the ventilation shafts.
Snape prowled the dungeons and potion storerooms like a giant bat, gliding silently through every shadowy corner, sniffing for the faintest residual odor of suspicious potions or dark alchemical ingredients.
Viktor and Tom focused their search on the areas of the castle tied to ancient magical creature lore.
They inspected the towers rumored to have once housed Griffin nests, scoured the clock tower cloisters where Demiguises supposedly roamed, and even slipped into a few ancient, cobweb-draped ruins of forgotten greenhouses.
Tom remained on high alert the entire time. His ears swiveled like precision radar, catching the microscopic rustle of dust, while his nose twitched, hunting for any anomalous scents.
Yet, aside from a few startled Doxys, a squad of leprechauns frantically patching up a tapestry Peeves had ruined, and several ancient, defunct prank traps... they found absolutely nothing.
The Chamber of Secrets, along with whatever "monster" or "Heir" was capable of casting that petrification curse, seemed to have melted seamlessly into the thousand-year-old stones and shadows of Hogwarts, leaving zero trace.
---
### The Unlucky Few
The only thing the professors actually "caught" that night were a handful of foolish students who thought the early hours of the morning following Halloween were the perfect time for an "adventure" or a secret rendezvous.
Naturally, bumping into a faculty comprised of highly-strung, hyper-vigilant professors ended disastrously for them.
A fifth-year Ravenclaw couple was caught dead to rights by Snape near the Restricted Section. They lost fifty points each and earned the "privilege" of scrubbing the armor in the Trophy Room every night for a month.
A third-year Hufflepuff trying to sneak into the kitchens for a midnight snack was caught by Flitwick, levitated out by the scruff of his neck, docked twenty points, and assigned a week of polishing corridor armor for Filch.
The absolute unluckiest of the bunch was a fourth-year Gryffindor who tried to use the chaos to slip up to the Room of Requirement, hoping to "summon some leftover Halloween candy."
He ran face-first into Professor McGonagall, who had just returned from a freezing patrol of the Astronomy Tower and was in a foul mood. He lost thirty points on the spot and received a brutal punishment: reporting to her office at 7:00 PM sharp every night for the next month to copy the Hogwarts Code of Conduct by hand.
The wails and frantic excuses of these unlucky few echoed sharply through the quiet castle, adding a layer of bleak absurdity to an already tense night.
The professors reprimanded them harshly, emphasizing the severe danger of the current situation, before personally escorting them back to their common rooms. Curfews were strictly enforced, passwords were changed on the spot, and prefects were ordered to double their watches.
When the eastern sky finally began to turn a pale, fish-belly white, driving away the heavy darkness, the exhausted professors reconvened in the Entrance Hall.
They exchanged heavy, knowing looks and shook their heads. The first night of the search had been a complete failure.
Dumbledore didn't look surprised or disappointed. He simply and calmly instructed everyone to get some rest before reconvening later that morning to discuss their next steps. The thoughtful gleam in his blue eyes suggested he had fully expected this wouldn't be easily solved.
---
### The Caretaker's Grief
Viktor didn't head straight back to his office.
With Tom—looking equally tired but still sharp-eyed—perched on his shoulder, Viktor made his way back up to the third-floor corridor where the attack had occurred.
The morning light hadn't fully pierced the depths of the castle yet. The corridor was still steeped in gloom, lit only by the dying embers of the wall torches.
The air still held a faint trace of last night's terror... layered under the harsh, rhythmic sound of a bristle brush scrubbing violently against stone.
Filch was still there.
Hunched over, he was viciously scrubbing the warning painted on the wall with a battered brush and a bucket of murky, soapy water. His movements were frantic, his teeth gritted tight, and he was muttering a continuous, broken string of curses under his breath.
"...filthy... vicious... my sweet Norris... you'll pay... scrub it off... scrub it clean..."
But his efforts were completely useless. The dark, sticky writing seemed to have fused into the very DNA of the stone. The brush only left faint, chalky scratches and streaks of dirty water; it didn't fade the words in the slightest.
The hem of Filch's robes was soaked. His hands were coated in suds and stone dust, and his face was a heartbreaking mask of exhaustion, rage, and profound powerlessness.
Viktor stood quietly watching him for a moment, a complex knot of emotions tightening in his chest.
He stepped forward and gave his wand a gentle flick. "Scourgify."
A soft light washed over the wall. The stubborn writing instantly looked as though a thin veil had been drawn over it, fading and blurring significantly, losing its glaring, ominous edge.
Filch's frantic scrubbing stopped dead.
He stared in shock at the faded writing, then down at his useless brush, struggling to process what had just happened. Slowly, he turned around. His milky eyes met Viktor's calm gaze, and then shifted to Tom, who was watching him quietly from Viktor's shoulder.
"P-Professor Scamander?" Filch croaked, his voice raw and raspy with disbelief.
"Mr. Filch," Viktor nodded gently. "The writing on the wall is bound by powerful dark magic. Standard cleaning methods won't remove it. I've merely muted it for now."
Filch's gaze lingered on Viktor's face for a few seconds before dropping to Tom.
He remembered that Mrs. Norris had always liked hanging around the Care of Magical Creatures professor. She didn't hate his clever cat, either; occasionally, Tom had even shared his dried fish treats with her.
The bitter, hateful expression on the caretaker's gaunt face softened slightly, revealing a flash of extreme, uncharacteristic vulnerability.
"Thank you... thank you, Professor," Filch whispered, a barely suppressed sob catching in his throat.
"Mrs. Norris... she really liked you. And your cat. She... she was just a sweet, innocent little thing. All she ever wanted was to patrol the halls with me, keeping those rule-breaking brats in line... She didn't deserve..."
He took a deep, shuddering breath, as if drawing on every ounce of strength he had left.
Those eyes, usually filled with so much spite and suspicion, stared directly at Viktor, burning with desperate, raw pleading.
"Professor, you... you understand these magical beasts. You and your cat are brilliant... Please. I'm begging you, find the... the monster that did this! Whatever it is! Avenge my Mrs. Norris! She... she's all I have—"
He couldn't finish the sentence. Terrified that if he spoke another word his fragile composure would completely shatter, he spun around. Snatching up his bucket of dirty water and his brush, he practically stumbled away, disappearing quickly around the corner.
Only the sound of his heavy, erratic footsteps echoed back down the hall.
---
### Deductions
Viktor watched the empty corridor for a long time.
Then, he raised his wand and aimed it back at the wall.
This time, the incantation he muttered was far more complex. The magic flowing from the wand tip wasn't a simple cleaning or concealment charm; it was a stream of brilliant, silver-grey light.
The light cascaded like liquid mercury, slowly seeping into every microscopic crack and crevice of the stone.
On the surface, the faded writing reacted like morning frost hit by the sun. It dissolved and evaporated at a visible rate, vanishing completely as if it had never existed at all. All that remained was a patch of stone that looked slightly smoother than the surrounding wall.
The corridor returned to absolute silence—a silence that felt even more dead than usual. Even the torches seemed to dim a fraction.
Viktor didn't leave. He stood in the center of the empty hallway, his brow furrowed in deep thought.
Tom hopped down onto the windowsill, curling his tail around his paws. He stared up at his master, his tail tip flicking thoughtfully, keeping Viktor company as he pieced the puzzle together.
Last night, the sudden attack and the massive crowd of students had completely contaminated the crime scene. The overlapping magical signatures and scents had turned the area into a muddied pond, making tracking tools like 'Reflection Powder' utterly useless.
But that petrification curse...
It was absolute. Instantaneous. Imbued with an ancient, freezing hatred.
What kind of magical creature or artifact possessed that kind of power?
A creature with Gorgon blood? True, looking into a Gorgon's eyes caused petrification. But Gorgons were incredibly rare, and their descendants usually manifested those traits differently. Moreover, a petrifying gaze that pure and powerful wouldn't simply leave zero physical traces of the creature's movement. Could it be some kind of atavistic throwback?
A Gu-Diao? The mythical beast from the East whose gaze could turn men to stone? Or perhaps a Petrifying Monitor Lizard? Their saliva and gaze carried heavy petrification toxins. But those effects were usually slow-acting, and the creatures themselves weren't nearly powerful enough to achieve this.
The Chamber of Salazar Slytherin... This monster, or guardian, had existed for at least a thousand years.
A millennium-old monster.
It was either a single, incredibly powerful, long-lived entity—like a specific breed of dragon, an ancient magical beast, or something bound by complex magic and kept in a state of hibernation or suspended animation.
Or, it was a breeding population that maintained itself.
But if it was a population, even if they hid perfectly for a thousand years, there would inevitably be traces: feeding habits, magical fluctuations, waste. It was impossible for a colony to leave zero clues.
Furthermore, "Purging the unworthy" sounded like a directive given to a specific, singular executioner, not a pack.
Therefore, it was highly probable that they were dealing with a single, massive entity. An apex predator that had been lying dormant in the bedrock or within the walls of Hogwarts for a thousand years, waiting for the "Heir" to wake it up and give it orders.
---
### Seeking the Old Neighbors
Viktor's gaze drifted out the window. The morning light was strengthening, revealing the dark green silhouette of the Forbidden Forest cutting through the mist, and the glittering surface of the Black Lake.
The "locals" in the Forbidden Forest—the Centaurs, the Thestral herds, the Unicorn families, and even the ancient, sentient trees and creatures—had lived on these grounds for generations. They were nearly as old as the castle itself.
Could they sense anomalous vibrations echoing from the depths of the earth or the ancient magical ley lines that the human wizards couldn't?
Would creatures hyper-sensitive to energy and life, like the Unicorns, react to a pulse of deeply hateful, petrifying dark magic?
And then there was the Black Lake.
Viktor's eyes locked onto the calm water. According to Hagrid and several ancient texts, the Giant Squid had likely been there since the Founders built the school. It lived in the abyssal depths, having witnessed a thousand years of storms and countless changes inside and outside the castle walls.
Did the lake's waters connect to the castle's subterranean plumbing? Or perhaps to the rumored flooded tunnels of the Chamber itself? Given its massive size and ancient biology, could the Squid sense unusual magical heartbeats thrumming from the castle's foundations?
Tom seemed to catch Viktor's train of thought. He stood up, gave a soft "Meow," and tapped the back of Viktor's hand with his paw. His eyes were wide and eager, clearly saying, Let's go ask them.
Snapping out of his reverie, Viktor rubbed Tom's head, a firm, determined smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.
"You're right, Tom. Standing here guessing won't solve anything. The answers we need might be hiding outside the castle."
He lowered his voice. "Let's go talk to the 'old neighbors' who know this land better than we do. We'll start in the forest. Let's see if Bane or Ronan have noticed anything, then we'll pay the Unicorns a visit. And if we have time... we might need to figure out how to have a chat with the old man in the lake."
He cast one last look at the pristine, yet deeply unsettling wall, then turned and headed for the castle's front doors.
Tom leaped gracefully onto his shoulder. As the morning sun poured through the high windows, the long, merged shadow of the wizard and his cat stretched across the empty stone floor.
A new day had broken, but the dark curtain hiding the truth behind the Halloween festivities had only just begun to rise. The road to uncovering the Chamber would be treacherous, but at the very least, they finally had a direction.
---
The morning sun draped a thin veil of mist over the Forbidden Forest. Dewdrops glittered like diamonds on the sprawling spiderwebs.
As Viktor and Tom stepped into the ancient, pulsing heart of the woods, the rich scent of damp earth, decaying leaves, and the microscopic traces of countless wild lives rushed over them.
Tom's ears and whiskers immediately stood at attention. A low, rumbling purr vibrated in his throat—a mix of pure excitement and primal caution.
They hadn't ventured far before they encountered a Centaur patrol.
The proud creatures held their longbows and spears at the ready. Their human torsos were corded with muscle, transitioning seamlessly into powerful equine bodies with chestnut coats that gleamed healthily in the morning light.
Bane, the leader of the patrol, recognized Viktor immediately. He stamped a front hoof against the dirt, lowered his head slightly, and spoke in an ancient, deeply solemn tone.
"Child of nature, guide of starlight. The forest senses your worry."
"Bane, Ronan, guardians of the forest," Viktor replied, returning the greeting with equal reverence. "A shadow has fallen over Hogwarts. I have come to listen for the echoes of ancient wisdom."
---