Night had fallen on the second floor of Hogwarts.
In a study plastered with portraits of Gilderoy Lockhart and draped with gaudy robes, the man himself sat correcting exam papers with a flourish of his peacock quill. Sarcastic little noises escaped him as he worked.
"Honestly! Barely anyone remembers lilac is my favorite color!"
"What's this? They don't even know that my ideal birthday gift, as clearly stated in my autobiography, is harmony between the magical and non-magical worlds… Though a case of Ogden Firewhisky would certainly be welcomed."
"Oh dear, aside from Miss Hermione Granger, not a single student knows my secret ambition. My line of shampoo is doomed…"
Lockhart sighed dramatically, propping his head up with one hand as the other continued to scribble corrections.
Harry, who had been press-ganged into answering fan mail once again, was beyond bored. Honestly, who but Hermione, the girl who probably wanted to swallow the entire textbook, could answer such ridiculous questions?
Thump, thump… hiss…
Just then, Harry caught a strange noise coming from the pipes within the walls. More disturbingly, he heard a voice.
"Come… come to me…"
Instinctively, Harry asked, "Who's there? I heard someone talking. What are they saying?"
Lockhart looked at Harry, puzzled.
Frowning, Harry said, "Didn't you hear that?"
"Hear what?"
Lockhart glanced around the room. "It's just the two of us, Harry."
Logically speaking, even if there were ghosts, they'd be on the upper floors of the castle at this hour.
Then, Lockhart seemed to reach a conclusion. "Oh, you must be tired, Harry… Yes, look at the time! Four hours have flown by! Time flies when you're having fun."
"…"
Harry didn't even bother to argue with Lockhart's statement, waving goodbye and making a hasty retreat. After all, he'd spent the last four hours composing Lockhart's replies, and if Lockhart weren't a professor – a position where rank held absolute power – he would have left long ago.
...
He hurried out of Lockhart's office.
As Harry walked down the corridor on the second floor, the eerie voice echoed in his ears once more.
"Blood… I smell fresh blood…"
"…"
Harry stopped dead, utterly irritated. "Can't you just leave me alone? Go find someone else if you want blood!"
The voice seemed to have taken heed, because it went silent for a moment.
Harry thought he'd finally gotten rid of the thing, but then…
"I must… kill…"
The malicious voice cut through the silence again.
But this time, it trailed off mid-sentence. Harry waited, but the voice didn't continue.
Something's definitely wrong. He didn't know where this guy came from, but judging from his menacing tone… Was he planning to steal territory from the Death Eaters?
Absolutely not! He needed to get back to Malfoy, gather all the Death Eaters on campus, and find this pest. Then… hehehe…
Just as Harry was plotting the interloper's demise, his gaze fell upon a horrifying sight.
On the wall at the corner of the corridor, two lines of blood-red writing were emblazoned:
"The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the Heir, beware!"
And hanging nearby, stiff as a board, was a familiar, emaciated form: Filch's cat, Mrs. Norris.
"…"
Harry sensed an impending crisis.
Sure enough, rapid footsteps came pounding down the corridor.
Even Filch, the cat's devoted owner, had caught the scent and rushed to the scene.
"…"
Seeing everyone's eyes on him – even the Weasley twins were casting admiring, congratulatory glances his way – Harry instantly understood what they were thinking.
Malfoy approached, looking back and forth between Harry and the suspended Mrs. Norris, before drawing a finger across his own neck. "Scarface, did you do this?"
Seeing this, Harry's face immediately darkened. "Would you even believe me if I told you I was just passing by?"
Malfoy seemed inclined to believe him.
But most others probably wouldn't. Especially Filch…
"You… you killed my cat?!"
The gaunt, grotesque Filch shoved his way through the crowd and confronted Harry.
He glanced sadly at the rigid Mrs. Norris, then glared at Harry with bloodshot eyes. "I'm going to kill you!!!"
"Come on then! Think I'm afraid of you?!"
Harry stood his ground, drawing his own wand, ready to fire off a spell in self-defense.
If he only had his hammer on him, he'd teach this crazy caretaker a lesson he wouldn't soon forget.
Seeing his brother being "bullied," Malfoy didn't hesitate. He drew his own wand and charged forward, shouting, "Scarface! I'm here to help you!!!"
Seeing his two good brothers rush into the fray, Ron, who had recently joined the Death Eaters and was eager to prove himself, drew his wand as well, only to find himself holding two broken pieces of wood.
"…"
He'd almost forgotten that his wand had been snapped in half when the car crashed into the Whomping Willow.
Still, they can kind of jinx things still, right?
Seeing Ron charging in with a broken wand in each hand, George quickly tried to stop him. "Ronnie! What are you doing?!"
"I don't like Filch!"
Ron didn't dare admit he was a Death Eater, so he just blurted out the first excuse that came to mind.
Fred couldn't help but exclaim, "Wow, our little brother's so brave!"
"Should we..."
George and Fred looked at each other, a silent agreement passing between them. After all, how could they miss out on such a spectacle?
Fred nodded. "Just a few quiet kicks, so we don't get caught."
Meanwhile, the united Death Eaters in Slytherin were instantly enraged to see Harry and his friends being "bullied"!
"How dare they lay a hand on one of us Death Eaters?! They're asking for it!"
"Go! Brothers! Let's get them!"
"For the glory of the Death Eaters!"
"For the Dark Lord!!!"
"For Professor Tom!"
"Long live the Death Eaters!"
Filch, who had just been pinned down and beaten by Harry's friends, watched in disbelief as a huge crowd descended upon him.
There was nothing he could do but be rubbed into the floor by a horde of angry housemates, while mentally cursing their families to the ninth generation.
But the brawl didn't last long…
"Wait! Filch, calm down…"
Dumbledore, who had been urgently summoned to the scene, was completely bewildered. Wasn't Filch's cat dead, with Harry as the prime suspect?
Seeing Dumbledore arrive, Harry and the others quickly backed off.
Filch, who was now missing two teeth, propped himself up on the ground, struggling to look up at Dumbledore. "What did you say? You told me to calm down?"
Hearing Filch's slurred speech, Dumbledore felt a twinge of embarrassment. He hadn't quite grasped the full extent of the situation.
"If you had arrived half a second later, I would have been beaten to death! You told me to calm down?!"
Filch crawled laboriously towards Dumbledore, clutching at his leg with one hand, while pointing at Harry and the others with the other. He broke down in tears. "Punish them! Punish them! Waaaaah…"