A flurry of bickering filled the corridor afterward. Filch stubbornly accused Harry of being the culprit; Professor McGonagall methodically analyzed every detail of the situation; Snape interrogated Harry with his usual biting sarcasm; and Lockhart, ever eager to bask in attention, boasted about his glorious exploits while even trying to snatch the potion-making assignment from Snape.
In the end, Dumbledore overruled everyone's objections and insisted on the principle of "innocent until proven guilty," allowing Harry and his friends to leave.
"Where have you been!" Pansy demanded in a low voice as Malfoy sat down at the Slytherin table, her tone sharp with anxiety and concern. "Filch's cat, Mrs. Norris, is rumored to have been petrified. Aren't you afraid…?" she muttered, trailing off. Then, as if something occurred to her, she scrutinized him. "Where exactly were you just now?"
"Are you suspecting me of being the culprit?" Malfoy asked, amused, deftly steering the conversation away. He could tell the girl was more worried about him than actually suspicious.
In the end, Pansy's questioning came to nothing. Malfoy cracked a few jokes and successfully diverted her attention.
However, the mood in the Great Hall was far from cheerful. The festive atmosphere of the holiday had vanished after the petrification incident. Students no longer chatted about Halloween pumpkins or ghosts; instead, hushed voices spread speculation about Mrs. Norris's attack. Though most students disliked Filch, they couldn't help feeling a twinge of sympathy—and unease—when they saw his distraught face.
"'Foes of the Heir, beware.' What does that even mean?" a Ravenclaw student wondered aloud at their table.
"That's not the point," said a thin boy nearby. "What we should really be asking is—what petrified her?"
"Medusa?" Luna asked eagerly, raising her hand.
"Oh, Luna," another student sighed, "that creature, like your Crumple-Horned Snorkack, doesn't exist."
"I'll find it someday," Luna murmured dreamily, lowering her head again as if already plotting her next expedition. The conversation quickly drifted away from her.
"Medusa?" A girl who had been silently reading suddenly trembled slightly, as if a thought had struck her. "Professor Sprout told us in class…"
"Are you suggesting there might be a basilisk in our school?" came a gentle but trembling female voice. Even without looking, Malfoy would have recognized that voice—it belonged to Emima, the dark-haired Ravenclaw from the East.
And just like that, the rumor spread through Hogwarts almost overnight.
Soon, every student had heard that a basilisk might be lurking within the castle walls—an ancient serpent capable of killing with a single gaze.
"Draco!"
A few days later, as Malfoy calmly enjoyed his breakfast at the Slytherin table, two dark-haired figures appeared before him. Both called his name at once, their voices taut with urgency.
"Hm?" Malfoy arched an eyebrow at the serious-faced Weasley twins.
"What are you doing here?" Pansy asked, her tone wary. She rarely interacted with Gryffindors, but as a Quidditch player, she had learned to pay attention to opponents—and the Weasley twins were not ones to ignore.
"This isn't a good place to talk," Fred said quietly, abandoning his usual grin. George nodded in agreement, equally solemn.
"I know what you're going to ask," Malfoy said with a wave of his hand. "It was just a coincidence. If I could truly foresee the future, do you really think I'd be wasting time making pocket money?"
The twins exchanged uncertain glances. After a brief pause, George spoke first. "Do you still want those things?"
"Whatever you want," Malfoy replied casually, taking a sip of honey tea and making it clear he didn't intend to discuss further.
"We won't take advantage of you," Fred said finally before the two of them turned and headed back to the Gryffindor table.
"You're actually doing business with the Weasleys?" Pansy gasped once they were gone. "If Uncle Lucius finds out, he'll scold you to death."
"Are you planning to tell on me?" Malfoy asked, his voice calm but eyes glinting.
"Uh…" Pansy hesitated only a moment before shaking her head. "Of course not." Still, her curiosity burned. "But what are you trading with them?"
"You'll know by this afternoon at the latest," Malfoy said coolly.
"That's exactly what I hate about you," Pansy muttered, puffing her cheeks. "You're always so mysterious."
By afternoon, the mystery was revealed.
Naturally, Lockhart was the first victim—though not petrified by any basilisk.
Since the disastrous pixie incident, Professor Lockhart had stopped bringing live creatures into his classroom. Instead, he preferred reading dramatic excerpts from his books or reenacting his own "heroic adventures."
So, during that afternoon's Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, Lockhart was performing Weekend with a Werewolf with Harry. Lockhart played himself, of course, while Harry had been assigned the role of the werewolf.
Just as Harry's character was about to leap forward and "tear Lockhart's throat out," and Lockhart prepared to heroically counterattack, a bizarre sound shattered the scene.
"Cluck… cluck… cluck!"
The sound echoed through the room like a falling domino or a bomb dropped into deep water.
Within moments, the classroom erupted into chaos—hundreds of loud rooster crows overlapping endlessly.
"Silence! Everyone, be quiet!" Lockhart shouted, but his voice was completely drowned out by the cacophony. Dozens of enchanted howlers had opened at once, each screeching with ear-splitting rooster cries. It was pandemonium.
No one could hear a word Lockhart said—and even if they had, no one seemed inclined to listen.
In the midst of the chaos, Neville quietly ducked his head. The first howler had gone off by accident—his accident. He hadn't expected it to trigger such a spectacular chain reaction.
When the rumor of a basilisk first spread from Ravenclaw, panic had swept through the school. Then students learned an important fact: the crow of a rooster was said to be deadly to a basilisk.
Naturally, some began paying close attention to the roosters kept by the school. Even Harry, Ron, and Hermione visited Hagrid, only to learn that all the roosters had mysteriously died. That, of course, reeked of conspiracy.
Soon afterward, students began hearing about a curious new product:
"Rooster Howler! Your best choice for dealing with a basilisk! Only two Sickles each! Buy more, save more—special discounts for orders over a hundred!"
The advertisement, unsurprisingly, came from Fred and George Weasley.
Though some were skeptical, the entrepreneurial twins were never ones to miss a chance for profit.
Within days, nearly every student at Hogwarts was carrying one or more rooster howlers—just in case.
Neville's accidental trigger merely set off the inevitable. Lockhart's class became ground zero for a full-blown rooster symphony.
Of course, several mischievous boys helped fan the flames. After all, few students could take Lockhart seriously. For diligent pupils, his incompetence was an open secret; thus, when Neville's howler went off, no one bothered to stop the uproar.
Had it been Professor McGonagall's class, a single stern glance from her would have extinguished the chaos before it began. But Lockhart lacked that authority.
In short, Lockhart's lesson that day was utterly ruined.
Fuming, he stormed to Dumbledore's office to complain, insisting that the students had "collectively sabotaged" his classroom. But Dumbledore, with his usual calm, gently dismissed him, saying only:
"It's not a bad thing for students frightened by rumors to find a little laughter."
That, of course, left Lockhart fuming even more.
When the next class rolled around, Lockhart was ready for revenge.
The very first thing he did was inspect everyone's pockets and bags. He confiscated every rooster howler he could find, stacking them in a large wicker basket at the front of the room.
Students groaned and protested, but Lockhart merely flashed his trademark dazzling smile and said, "When you face a basilisk, you won't have time to open a howler! What you truly need is this."
He then strutted dramatically across the classroom, distributing small, polished charms to every student. When the last one had been handed out, he returned to the podium and declared proudly:
"This is a Petrification Charm, personally crafted by me! Simply wear it on your chest, and even the basilisk's direct gaze cannot harm you!"
He winked roguishly, basking in the admiring sighs of several female students. The glittering talismans were, admittedly, quite pretty—and far more aesthetically pleasing than the ridiculous howlers.
"Tch," Ron muttered under his breath, turning away in disdain.
Harry stared down at the charm lying on his desk, an uneasy feeling twisting in his gut. His intuition whispered that the Weasley twins' noisy rooster howlers were probably far more effective than any of Lockhart's showy trinkets.
Hermione, however, carefully tucked the charm into her bag, thoughtful as ever.
And so ended another peculiar day at Hogwarts—filled with rumors, laughter, and the crowing echoes of enchanted roosters that refused to be silenced.
Somewhere in the shadows of the castle, a far more dangerous creature stirred.
But for now, the sound of laughter still drowned out the hiss of the serpent.
End of Chapter 41: "The Roaring Rooster."
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