"What's going on here? What's going on?" hollered Argus Filch, elbowing his way through the throngs of students. Having made it past the last obstacle, he finally had a clear view of the situation. Horrified, the poor man took a few steps back.
"My cat! My cat! What's happened to Mrs. Norris?" he screeched, bulging eyes searching for the culprit. And he found that he had the pick of the litter, no pun intended.
"It was you!" He had apparently made his choice. Potter was the closest to the cat, since he had intended on getting it some help. "You! You've murdered my cat! You've killed her! I'll kill you! I'll —"
Dumbledore's voice resounded throughout the corridor.
"ARGUS!"
Oleandra turned her head, catching sight of the headmaster, followed by the other teachers. She watched on as he carefully took down the cat from the sconce.
"Come with me, Argus," he said to Filch. "You had better come as well, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, Miss Greengrass."
As usual, Professor Lockhart had to insert himself into matters that did not concern him. Little did he know that Dumbledore could read him like an open book! Had he known Dumbledore was a master Legilimens, he would have stayed a thousand miles away from the old man.
"My office is nearest, Headmaster — just upstairs — please feel free —"
Dumbledore thanked him, and soon their little procession had made its way through the crowd and up to Lockhart's office.
Once inside, Oleandra looked around curiously. The walls seemed to have been covered in paintings of the man. They seemed to have been caught off-guard, since all of the Lockharts in the pictures had rollers in their hair. Why pictures felt the need to arrange their hair, she had no clue.
Meanwhile, Dumbledore was busy examining Mrs. Norris, poking at the cat with his fingers. Then, he starting tapping it with his wand, all the while chanting incantations that Oleandra couldn't quite make out. In the background, Professor Lockhart was giving his expert opinion on what he thought had happened to the cat (a Transmogrifian Torture, apparently), all the while bragging about his achievements. Oleandra had stopped paying attention, as she was busy watching a certain Gilderoy Lockhart brush his teeth in a painting.
As she was wondering how often the man brushed to have such brilliantly white teeth, Dumbledore's voice snapped her out of her reverie.
"She's not dead, Argus," he said.
At the same time, Lockhart abruptly stopped his tirade. He had been wrong about the whatchamacallit torture, it seemed.
"Not dead?" said Filch. "But why's she all — all stiff and frozen?
"She has been Petrified," said Dumbledore, looking vaguely in Oleandra's direction. "But how, I cannot say…" (Aha! said Lockhart in the background. "I thought that might be the case!")
"Why don't you ask HIM!" shouted Filch, pointing his bony finger at Potter.
"No second year could have done this," said Dumbledore in a low voice.
"This was done with advanced Dark Magic," he continued in a firmer tone, seemingly having convinced himself of something.
Oleandra was utterly confused. Why weren't they blaming her? She was a Slytherin, and she had Petrified some pixies at the start of the year. There, even Professor Lockhart had made the connection! He was looking at her strangely.
"He did it, he did it!" Filch hollered, looking as if he were going to burst. "You saw what was written on the wall! He saw the — in my office —, he, he knows, I'm, I'm a Squib!"
Filch had finally managed to spit out the last of his words. Oleandra looked positively horrified. Was this the fate that had awaited her if she had been a Squib? Harassing children out of envy and resentfulness?
"I never touched Mrs. Norris!" Harry defended himself loudly. "And I don't even know what a Squib is."
"Rubbish!" snarled Filch. "He saw my Kwikspell letter!"
Kwikspell was a program Wizards used to catch up on magic they needed to practise. Oleandra's mother had often menaced her with their summer courses so that she could catch up in Charms and Transfiguration. Oleandra shivered at the thought.
To Potter's confusion, Snape started arguing in his favour. However, his relief was short-lived, as Snape started asking pointed questions as to why he and his friends had been there in the first place. Oleandra listened as the Gryffindor trio launched into three different explanations at the same time, but the narrative was basically this: they had attended a ghost's Deathday celebration, which is why they hadn't been present at the Halloween feast.
"But why not join the feast afterward?" said Snape, his lip curling up. "Why go up to that corridor?"
He had hit the bull's-eye. Why indeed?
"Because — because —" Harry stammered.
"Hold on," said Professor Flitwick. "That's not fair to Mr. Potter. Miss Greengrass was there as well."
He turned to her.
"Why weren't you at the feast? Why were you there with these three?" he asked solemnly.
It was Oleandra's turn at the confessional. In truth, even she didn't quite know why she had run there like a madwoman. She had been subjected to tremendous stress over the past weeks, and it had all burst out in an instant.
"I, I, — Uh…" she said, searching for something to say. "I was in the bathroom, and I heard a voice, so I followed it."
"I'm an idiot!" she scolded herself inwardly. "That's the stupidest excuse I could have ever come up with! I should have said I heard the three Gryffindors and went to take a look!"
To her surprise, though, Potter's eyes went wide.
"You heard it too?" he asked excitedly. He was ready to grasp on to any excuse to prove he wasn't hearing voices that didn't exist and that he wasn't stark raving mad!
Dumbledore peered at Potter, with that look that made him feel like he had been subjected to a CT scan. His gaze landed briefly on Oleandra, but he soon looked away, wincing slightly.
"Innocent until proven guilty, Severus, Filius," Dumbledore said with finality. Unbeknownst to the children, he had read their minds, and it seemed like they were telling the truth. Oleandra's mind was a closed book to him, as usual, but her account corroborated Potter's.
Gears were turning in his ancient mind. Neither Mr. Weasley nor Miss Granger had heard the voices, only Harry Potter and Miss Greengrass had. How very strange…
"My cat has been Petrified!" he shrieked, eyes bulging. "I want to see some punishment!"
"We will be able to cure her, Argus," said Dumbledore. "Unfortunately, Professor Sprout's Mandrakes, with which we might have been able to concoct a Restorative, have been stolen. It will take some time to procure some more."
How very strange indeed. Something terrible was afoot, Dumbledore feared. This could not be a coincidence. This was the prelude to something terrible.
Oleandra: "…"
And with that, the four children were dismissed, and Professor Snape and Professor Lockhart got into an argument about who would be making the Mandrake Draught.