---
Chapter 41
The corridor erupted in noise the moment Dumbledore arrived. Filch accused Harry of attacking his cat. Professor McGonagall carefully analyzed the scene. Snape questioned Harry in that unsettling, silky voice of his. Lockhart spent the entire time boasting about his past achievements—at one point even trying to take over the brewing of the antidote, a task that clearly belonged to Snape.
In the end, Dumbledore upheld his principle of "innocent until proven guilty" and sent the trio away.
---
"Where did you go?!" Pansy demanded the moment Malfoy sat down. Her voice was low, but tight with worry. "I heard Filch's cat was petrified! Aren't you afraid—" She cut herself off, then narrowed her eyes at him. "Wait… where exactly were you?"
"Are you accusing me of being the culprit?" Malfoy asked, amused. He could tell she was more worried than suspicious.
Pansy didn't get an answer. Malfoy cracked a few jokes until her attention drifted, but the tension in the Great Hall remained. The once cheerful Halloween atmosphere had been smothered by fear. No one was talking about pumpkin lanterns anymore—only about Mrs. Norris.
Even if most students disliked Filch, it was impossible not to feel a chill when they imagined what could petrify a living creature.
"'Enemies of the Heir, beware.' What's that supposed to mean?" a Ravenclaw asked.
"That's not the problem. The real question is what petrified her," replied a thin boy.
"Medusa," Luna suggested, raising her hand.
"Oh, Luna… Medusa doesn't exist. Just like that horn-curled Snorkack you're always looking for," another student said.
"I'll find it one day," Luna murmured, lowering her head, already lost in thought.
"Medusa?" Another girl—one who had been listening silently—suddenly stiffened. She looked up. "In Professor Sprout's class, she told us—"
"Are you saying there might be a basilisk in the school?" a gentle female voice interrupted. Though soft, it trembled with fear. If Malfoy had been there, he would've recognized the black-haired girl at once—cho chang from the East.
By nightfall, the rumor had spread like wildfire.
Everyone now whispered the same terrifying possibility:
There was a monster in Hogwarts—a creature that killed with a single glance.
---
A Few Days Later
"Draco!"
Malfoy was enjoying breakfast at the Slytherin table when two shadows loomed over him. Fred and George Weasley stood with unusually serious expressions.
"Hm?" Malfoy raised an eyebrow.
"What do you want?" Pansy asked sharply. Now that she played Quidditch, she paid close attention to Gryffindor players—and the Weasley twins were two of the most troublesome.
"It's not convenient to talk here," said one twin.
"I already know what you're going to ask." Malfoy waved a hand casually. "It was just a coincidence. If I really could predict the future, do you think I'd only be making pocket money?"
The twins exchanged a troubled look. After a moment, George asked quietly, "Do you still want… the usual?"
"As you wish." Malfoy lifted his honey tea and sipped—clearly dismissing them.
"We won't rip you off," Fred muttered, and the two returned to the Gryffindor table.
"You're doing business with the Weasleys? Your father would explode," Pansy said, staring at him incredulously.
"You won't tell him, will you?" Malfoy asked calmly.
"Of course not," she replied quickly—though her curiosity burned even hotter. "But what are you trading with them?"
"You'll find out this afternoon," Malfoy said.
"I hate when you act mysterious," Pansy huffed.
---
That Afternoon
Lockhart became the first "victim."
Not of the basilisk's gaze—of something much louder.
Ever since the pixie fiasco, Lockhart avoided live creatures in class. Instead, he read long passages from his books and occasionally reenacted dramatic scenes.
During that day's Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, Harry was reluctantly acting as the werewolf in "A Weekend with a Werewolf." Just as he was about to pounce on Lockhart—who was preparing a heroic counterattack—a strange sound rippled across the room.
Cluck. Cluck. Cluck.
It was like a dropped domino.
Then suddenly—
"COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO!"
Dozens of roosters crowed at once. The classroom exploded in noise.
"QUIET! EVERYONE, QUIET!" Lockhart shouted, but he was drowned out completely. His voice didn't stand a chance.
Neville lowered his head in mortification. He had accidentally triggered the first Rooster Crowing Letter… and clearly set off a chain reaction.
Ever since the basilisk rumor spread, students had been desperate for protection. Hagrid revealed that every rooster in the school had mysteriously died—making things even worse.
Then, conveniently, an advertisement circulated:
"Rooster Crowing Letters! Best defense against basilisks! Two Sickles each—buy in bulk for discounts! Orders over one hundred receive a special bonus!"
Fred and George, naturally.
Though doubtful, students were too panicked to care. Within a day, everyone carried several letters.
And Neville—poor Neville—became the fuse that blew up Lockhart's class.
If this had happened in Professor McGonagall's class, a single stern look would've smothered the chaos instantly. But Lockhart… inspired no such fear.
The afternoon lesson was effectively cancelled. Lockhart was furious and ran to Dumbledore to complain. Dumbledore, however, brushed him off gently—noting that frightened students sometimes needed ways to relieve tension.
By the next lesson, Lockhart was determined to regain control. He searched everyone's pockets and bags, confiscating every Rooster Crowing Letter. The students protested loudly, but Lockhart only smiled his dazzling smile.
"When facing a basilisk, you won't have time to open those letters," he announced grandly. "What you need… is this."
He proceeded to hand each student a small decorative charm.
"This," he proclaimed, "is an anti-petrification amulet I crafted myself! Wear it on your chest, and you'll be safe from any basilisk!"
He gave a theatrical wink. Several girls sighed dreamily. The delicate amulet certainly looked nicer than a noisy rooster letter.
"Tsk," Ron muttered, turning away.
Harry glanced at his amulet doubtfully. His instincts whispered that the twins' ridiculous letters were far more effective.
Hermione, however, placed the amulet neatly into her bag—just in case.
---