Stubbornly biting into the cupcake, Tver hadn't even swallowed before Dumbledore pulled him to his feet. Together they headed up the stairs toward the third floor.
The corridor was already packed with young wizards eager to watch the commotion. Percy stood at the front, trying to keep order, though he was nowhere near as effective as Dumbledore's presence alone.
With the professors arriving, the crowd split instantly, revealing Harry, Ron, and Hermione standing in the middle of the hallway.
The three of them looked helplessly toward Dumbledore. The young wizards around them clearly didn't dare get close, making the trio stand out even more, isolated and anxious.
Beside them, a cat hung from the bottom of a torch bracket.
It dangled motionless, its body rigid. Frankly, even a dead animal wouldn't stiffen this quickly.
Tver didn't need Filch to say it—he knew it was Mrs Norris.
A foot above the floor, red writing smeared across the wall caught the light of the torches, flickering faintly.
The Chamber of Secrets has been opened.
Enemies of the Heir, beware.
Filch was still shouting, but Dumbledore quickly stopped him, then lifted Mrs Norris down.
"Professor, I… we didn't," Harry stammered to Tver.
Tver didn't answer. He simply gave them a gentle smile, easing their nerves a little.
"It was you!" Filch roared, jabbing a finger at them. "Who else could it be?"
"Filch," Dumbledore said sharply. "All of you, come with me. Including the three of you."
His blue eyes swept across the group, pausing on Harry before he turned back to lead the way.
There weren't many rooms on the third floor, and the most noticeable were the two Defence Against the Dark Arts offices. Tver certainly wasn't interested in giving everyone a tour of his.
Luckily, Lockhart existed—and this wasn't a moment he'd get to show off.
"Headmaster, to my office!" Lockhart announced loudly as he straightened his robes.
So the enlarged group followed behind Dumbledore once again.
Only Professor Flitwick stayed behind to maintain order, calming the panicked—or overly excited—young wizards and ushering them back to their common rooms.
Inside the office, Lockhart briskly tidied the desk and lit the candles.
Dumbledore placed Mrs Norris on the smooth surface without hesitation. He and Professor McGonagall bent down to examine the stiff cat.
His slightly crooked hooked nose nearly touched her fur. Through his half-moon spectacles, his blue eyes inspected her carefully, his long fingers gently poking here and there.
Professor McGonagall moved similarly, though her eyes showed deeper confusion.
Tver stood behind them, studying Mrs Norris as well, searching for any sign of the Basilisk's fatal gaze.
Snape stood with his arms crossed, his entire figure shrouded in the office's shadows. Flickering firelight highlighted the cold curve of his smile, his indifferent eyes shifting between Harry and Tver.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione stiffened under that stare. Their briefly relaxed nerves tightened again, and they squirmed uncomfortably on their stools.
Lockhart began flaunting his ignorance.
"I'd bet this cat is dead—"
"It isn't dead. It's been struck by an advanced piece of dark magic and is in a petrified state." Dumbledore straightened up. "I need your help, Tver."
Tver nodded at the old man's gesture.
Without checking further, he drew his wand immediately and tapped Mrs Norris's rigid body.
A faint wisp of black smoke curled up from the spot he touched. It was subtle, but everyone saw it clearly.
The smoke drifted through the air, circled once, then sank back into the cat's body.
"What is this?" Professor McGonagall asked, being the least familiar with dark magic.
"This is analysis," Dumbledore said. "By working backward from the residual magic, we reveal the essence of the spell and manifest it."
Being able to do this—even with dark magic—meant Tver was already edging closer to the core principles of magic itself. It had taken Dumbledore decades to reach that level, and Tver was only eighteen.
"What does that mean?" Filch asked anxiously.
"It means that unless a specific countermeasure is used, this dark magic will keep exerting its effects. For example—"
Tver moved his wand again, releasing a small pulse of magic and life force.
Mrs Norris's foot twitched upward. Filch's face lit up in delight.
But the movement lasted less than a second before her foot dropped again.
"Even with my brief suppression of part of the spell's power, it doesn't stop the magic from continuing," Tver said.
"Then… what do we do?" Filch's shoulders slumped as he looked desperately between Dumbledore and Tver.
Dumbledore reassured him. "Don't worry. Once Professor Sprout's mandrakes mature, she can brew the potion to cure petrification. Mrs Norris will recover."
"But the real question is: why was the cat petrified?" Snape stepped out from the shadows with a cold smile.
"Ask them!" Filch pointed again at Harry and his friends.
Snape was satisfied with his reaction and immediately shifted his focus entirely to the trio.
Tver, however, wasn't interested in listening anymore.
He was thinking about what he had just discovered—the Basilisk's lethal ability was terrifyingly overbearing.
Some traits of magical creatures functioned as their own form of magic. The Basilisk's unique magic was achieving a fatal effect through direct eye contact.
It was almost rule-like. If not for that absolute requirement of eye contact, Tver would have gotten as far away from the Basilisk as possible.
Because at the moment, even he couldn't resist the Basilisk's gaze.
But with the requirement of direct eye contact, the Basilisk seemed far too weak in his eyes.
The Shield Charm badge alone was enough to ensure the students wouldn't be affected by its killing effect.
Which meant he could wait calmly for the Basilisk to run wild in the castle, for Dumbledore to be removed, for the plot to unfold step by step—and then make use of it.
By the time Tver returned from his thoughts, the professors had finished questioning Harry and the others.
Their stammering was so obvious that even Lockhart could tell they weren't telling the truth, so Dumbledore had no intention of letting Snape continue.
"You should go back now."
The trio let out a breath of relief and fled the office.
"They're lying!" Snape said at once.
Professor McGonagall sighed.
They were her house's students, after all.
"In any case, without evidence of wrongdoing, we have no grounds to punish them."
"Honestly, I suspect your attitude frightened them. They may not have mentioned things that could cast suspicion on themselves."
"Since they refuse to speak, pressing them further is pointless," Dumbledore said calmly. "What do you think, Tver? You've been deep in thought for a while."
Everyone turned to Tver. Lockhart tried puffing out his chest to draw attention, but of course no one looked at him.
"I'm more concerned about whether this attack is an isolated event or the first in a series. If the culprit strikes again, how do we keep the students from suffering something worse?"
It was the only way Tver could warn the professors—and the students—to stay alert.
Everyone immediately understood the frightening possibility. None of them dared assume this was a simple accident, or that the attacker would only target cats.
Dumbledore and Snape's expressions grew much more serious. Professor McGonagall drew a sharp breath.
"Keep the children safe," she said heavily. "We can't keep indulging the students, especially those two Weasley boys. They must be watched closely!"