As night deepened, the temperature in the room grew unbearably cold.
"I can't take it anymore," Ron muttered, his teeth chattering. At that moment, the band struck up another discordant tune, and the ghosts floated back to the dance floor.
"Let's go," Augustus agreed.
They began moving toward the door, nodding and smiling at everyone who glanced their way. A minute later, they were hurrying down a dimly lit corridor lined with black candles.
"There's probably still pudding left," Ron said hopefully as he led the way to the staircase descending into the Entrance Hall.
While walking through the narrow passage, Harry suddenly stopped. He staggered to a halt, clutching the stone wall as he strained to listen, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the dimly lit corridor above and below.
"Harry, what's—"
"It's that voice again—don't talk—"
"Voice?" Augustus glanced around, his expression puzzled as he saw nothing unusual.
"Listen!" Harry said urgently. Ron and Hermione froze, staring at him. Augustus, noticing Harry's certainty, pulled out his silver wand and cast an auditory amplification spell. Faint, incoherent hissing sounds reached his ears.
"There is indeed a sound. It seems to come from the ceiling. Could it be a ghost? But it's just meaningless hissing," Augustus observed, watching Harry, who was still looking around intently.
"It's a person's voice; I'm sure of it. They're saying... kill... it's time..." Harry explained hurriedly. Augustus looked at him in confusion but continued to listen. The sound, however, remained a nonsensical hiss to his ears.
The voice was fading. Harry could tell it was moving—upward.
"This way!" he shouted, taking off at a run, bounding up the stairs and into the Entrance Hall. Augustus, Ron, and Hermione followed close behind.
"If we're hearing the same thing—though I don't know why we interpret it differently—the source seems to be higher up. Follow me," Augustus suggested after confirming the sound.
The group dashed up another staircase, Augustus carefully listening amidst his heavy footsteps.
The four of them sprinted through the third-floor corridors, Ron and Hermione panting behind as they tirelessly ran. Finally, they rounded a corner into a deserted hallway.
"Augustus, Harry, what's going on?" Ron asked, wiping sweat from his face. "I can't hear anything..."
Hermione suddenly gasped, pointing down the hallway.
"Look!"
On the wall ahead of them, something was glimmering. As they cautiously approached, squinting in the darkness, they saw words scrawled between two windows, about a foot off the ground. The letters, reflecting the light from the burning torches, gleamed faintly.
The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the Heir, beware.
"What's that—hanging beneath it?" Ron said, his voice trembling.
Cautiously, they moved closer. Harry nearly slipped on a large puddle of water on the floor. Ron and Hermione grabbed him just in time, and they edged forward, their eyes locked on the dark shape below the writing.
The moment they saw what it was, all three jumped back in horror, splashing water everywhere.
It was Mrs. Norris, the caretaker's cat, hanging stiff as a board from a torch bracket by her tail. Her body was rigid, her wide-open eyes staring blankly.
For a few seconds, they stood frozen. Then Ron broke the silence.
"We need to get out of here."
"Shouldn't we try to help—" Harry stammered.
"She looks petrified. If it's just that, there might be a way to save her," Augustus said, his expression complex as he examined the cat.
"Listen," Ron said urgently. "We don't want to be found here."
But it was too late. A low rumble, like distant thunder, signaled the end of the feast. From both ends of the corridor came the sounds of hundreds of feet ascending the stairs, accompanied by the cheerful chatter of well-fed students.
Moments later, the corridor filled with students, all pushing and jostling to get a look.
The crowd fell silent when they spotted the hanging cat. Augustus, Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood awkwardly in the middle of the hallway, the center of everyone's attention.
In the hush, a sharp voice rang out.
"Enemies of the Heir, beware! You're next, Mudbloods!" It was Draco Malfoy. He had pushed his way to the front of the crowd, his pale face flushed with excitement. He stared at the stiff cat with a cruel grin.
"What's going on here? What happened?" Filch's shrill voice cut through the tense silence. Attracted by Malfoy's shout, he shouldered his way through the crowd. When he saw Mrs. Norris, he stumbled back, clutching his face in horror.
"My cat! My cat! What happened to Mrs. Norris?" he screamed. Then his bulging eyes landed on Harry.
"You!" he shrieked. "You killed her! You killed my cat! I'll kill you! I'll—"
"Filch, be careful. Accusing a student without evidence is no small matter," Augustus said calmly.
"It must have been him! He knows—I'm—I'm—" Filch broke into sobs, drawing sympathetic looks from the students. They turned to Harry as though he were a heinous criminal.
Dumbledore arrived, followed by several other professors. In an instant, he was at Harry's side, gently detaching Mrs. Norris from the torch bracket.
"Come with me, Filch," he said. "And you too, Augustus, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger."
Lockhart eagerly stepped forward.
"My office is the closest, Headmaster—right upstairs—you can—"
"Thank you, Gilderoy," Dumbledore said.
The silent crowd parted to let them through. Lockhart, looking self-important, hurried after Dumbledore. Professors McGonagall and Snape followed as well.
Before leaving, Augustus cast a thoughtful glance at the words on the wall and the puddle of water below, which had yet to be cleaned. His eyes glinted with realization, as though the scene were a puzzle whose solution lay just beneath the surface, hidden amidst layers of uncertainty.
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