It was past eleven at night when Amossta finally emerged from Dumbledore's office.
His cheeks felt stiff from maintaining a polite, professional smile for over three hours. Even now, with the Headmaster out of sight, the phantom of that grin lingered on his face. It was the price of doing business; a friendly face was a small concession for a steady paycheck.
Despite the marathon session, he still wasn't entirely sure why Dumbledore had summoned him so urgently. Looking back, the Headmaster hadn't given him a single opening to present an investigative plan. Instead, he had led Amossta on a sprawling journey through stories of distant lands and ancient history, like an old friend reminiscing over drinks.
The only tangible gain was the half-bottle of vintage whisky Dumbledore had insisted he take.
It was deeply unsettling. The level of trust Dumbledore projected didn't align with the cautious, meticulous man Amossta knew from his school days.
The corridors were tombs of silence. The figures in the portraits were huddled beneath painted torches, lost in deep sleep. During the Christmas break, even Filch, the ever-vigilant caretaker, had seemingly vanished to visit old acquaintances.
The wind whistling through the stone embrasures remained biting, but the snow had finally ceased. Through the drifting, heavy clouds, a pale moon fought to break its bonds.
Amossta paused at a window near a staircase landing. He gazed out into the starless night. The Forbidden Forest was an obsidian blur, and the tiny, flickering amber spark from Hagrid's hut was the only light in a world of bottomless dark.
"I am genuinely surprised you walked out of that office alive, Amossta. I was already contemplating the arrangements for your funeral."
Snape was leaning against the stone wall in the shadows, now dressed in a set of dismal, eggplant-purple pajamas. He stared at the bottle in Amossta's hand with a characteristic sneer.
"Did Dumbledore's Legilimency fail so utterly that he had to resort to Veritaserum to extract the sins of your past few years? Or did he simply decide to bore you into a confession?"
"Your wit remains as sharp as ever, Professor," Amossta replied, turning to smile at the man in the shadows. "The Headmaster didn't use Veritaserum. Though I suspect he found exactly what he was looking for."
A sliver of moonlight traveled across the floor of the Hospital Wing, forming a row of pale, rectangular spots on the flagstones.
"Lumos."
After ensuring Madam Pomfrey had retired to her office for the night, Hermione Granger cautiously opened her eyes. she wriggled deeper into her duvet and pulled a copy of Common Magical Ailments from beneath her pillow. She had begged Harry to borrow it from the library for her.
Though Madam Pomfrey had promised the fur on her face would fade in a few weeks, Hermione was desperate to find a shortcut. She didn't want to spend the rest of the term explaining why she had suddenly sprouted a set of very realistic whiskers.
Perhaps influenced by her botched transformation, she moved with a feline stealth, her palms curling instinctively into paws against the parchment. Beneath the covers, a long, slender cat tail slipped out, twitching idly over the edge of the bed.
Suddenly, the sound of footsteps outside the ward made the two tufted ears atop her head snap upright. Within seconds, she ruled out Harry or Ron, and even Madam Pomfrey's heavy tread. Panic surged through her, making her fur stand on end.
Had the Heir of Slytherin come to finish her off?
She scrambled to douse her wand and lay flat, her hand gripping her wand tightly beneath the sheets.
"Very little happens in this school that escapes the Headmaster, Professor. Are you certain he is truly in the dark?"
"You may call him a hypocrite, but he would not stand by and watch students be harmed by such base conspiracies."
The second voice was low, sallow, and unmistakably familiar. It was Professor Snape—the man Harry hated most, and the teacher with the deepest prejudice against Gryffindors.
The first voice, however... Hermione's exceptional memory searched its files and came up empty. She had never heard it before. But at least the conversation suggested they weren't the Heir of Slytherin.
After a moment's hesitation, Hermione's furry head peeked out from the duvet. Thanks to the thick pads that had grown on her feet, she moved toward the door without making a single sound.
Following Snape's lead, Amossta pulled back a heavy privacy curtain. He stepped forward, his gaze intensifying as he examined the two boys lying in the adjacent beds.
"The one with the gray hair is Colin Creevey. The other is Justin Finch-Fletchley—Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, respectively. Both Muggle-born. You have a sensitivity to magic, Amossta. Give me your assessment."
Amossta leaned over, standing between the two beds. His expression turned clinical, and within his pale violet eyes, two faint swirls of light began to rotate slowly. He looked from Colin—frozen in a permanent pose of taking a photo—to the terrified mask of Justin's face. Occasionally, he tapped their hardened skin with a finger; the hollow thump-thump echoed loudly in the silent ward.
"What does Dumbledore say?" Amossta asked, his voice casual as he sat on the edge of the bed, staring into Colin's unblinking eyes.
"He believes it is a form of advanced Dark Arts requiring immense power—something far beyond the capability of a student. He told Minerva privately that he lacks the means to personally undo a Petrificus Totalus of this strength."
"Hmph. I have my reservations about that last part." Amossta pursed his lips, then pointed toward Colin's eyes. "It isn't Dark Arts. It's a curse. An external, anomalous magical force used their eyes as a window to freeze the flow of magic within their bodies. The petrification is just the physical symptom."
"Minerva, Filius, and Pomona have all hinted at their suspicions," Snape said, sounding genuinely annoyed. "And I have watched. The children in this school are desperate for attention; none of them are capable of hiding their strength the way you did. They simply don't have the talent."
"The Headmaster's whisky really does have quite the kick..." Amossta stood and stretched, but a sudden wave of dizziness made him lurch. He gripped the bedpost and rubbed his temples, his mind racing. Hearing Snape's veiled complaint about the current students, he offered a small smile.
"You're looking in the wrong direction, Professor. I said the petrification was caused by an anomalous magic. It doesn't feel like it comes from a wizard. It's more... well, for example, it's like the magic that flows through the blood and nerves of a Dragon. It has a completely different 'flavor' than human magic."
Behind the door, Hermione's large amber eyes widened. She clenched her paws in excitement.
Amossta glanced toward the slightly ajar door of the next ward. To his eyes, the magical signature of the student hiding there was as obvious as a full moon in a clear sky.
"So the legend of Salazar Slytherin leaving a monster in a Chamber isn't just a bedtime story?" Snape's voice turned even more sallow. The Slytherins took immense pride in their Founder, but in this moment, Snape's irritation with the man outweighed his reverence.
"From the evidence, it's the most likely conclusion."
Amossta felt a flicker of amusement thinking about the Dark Wizards in the Underworld dreaming of Slytherin's 'secret weapons.' They likely wouldn't expect that the great Salazar's grand legacy was just a overgrown pet. Regardless, his mission was to find whatever was in that Chamber and deliver it to Carcus Folly.
Confirming he couldn't break the curse immediately, Amossta pulled the curtains back into place. "Actually, I'm more curious about the attacker's motive. They clearly have the power to kill these boys once they're frozen, yet they haven't. Are they just enjoying the terror? That seems like the work of a total psychopath—"
"A question we are all asking. And one I suspect Miss Hermione Granger is equally curious about!"
Oof!
As Amossta and Snape turned to leave, Snape suddenly whipped out his wand and slashed it toward the door of the next ward. Hermione, caught completely off guard, let out a startled yelp. She stumbled out from behind the door, tumbled twice across the floor, and landed squarely at Amossta's feet.
"My god..."
In the sudden silence, Amossta's jaw dropped. He looked at the mocking smirk on Snape's face, then looked down at the student curled into a ball at his feet.
"When did the Wizarding World get a Cat-girl?!"