Something was terribly, unmistakably wrong.
Nine parts out of ten were wrong, and Adrian's sharp eyes caught every important detail. Professor Lockhart's fingers trembled against the parchment he clutched, betraying the calm facade he tried to maintain and fine beads of sweat dotted his forehead air.
His normally spotless peacock-blue robes were wrinkled and disheveled today and there were suspicious dark stains on his collar.
"Is that so?" Adrian said, his voice sounding disinterested as he observed Lockhart.
"Ah, I should go," Lockhart blurted suddenly. "I still have several letters to send out—urgent fan mails, you understand."
Without waiting for a response, Lockhart turned and strode away with quick, uneven steps. His retreating figure seemed less like the confident celebrity wizard and more like a man fleeing from dementors.
"What did you do to him?" Adrian couldn't suppress his curiosity as he turned to face Snape with genuine confusion.
Snape's thin lips curved into a cold, satisfied smirk. "I didn't do anything particularly creative," he drawled, his silky voice dripping with disdain. "I merely suggested to that incompetent fool that he refrain from pursuing unnecessary... schemes."
Adrian shrugged, deciding not to probe further into whatever psychological warfare Snape had released.
Lockhart had probably tried to do some grand scheme that had inevitably backfired, angering Snape again.
Time flowed forward carrying the students toward final examinations. The castle buzzed with a nervous air as students buried themselves in textbooks or, equally, gave up completely in favor of distraction.
One evening, Harry and Ron were in their dormitory playing wizard's chess.
Neither boy seemed particularly concerned about the upcoming exams, though for different reasons.
"Checkmate," Ron said with satisfaction, leaning back against his pillows as his queen delivered the final blow. "You lost again, Harry. That knight sacrifice on the seventeenth move was your downfall."
Harry ran his fingers through his messy black hair in frustration, causing it to stick up even more. He had lost count of his moves somewhere around turn seven.
It had to be said that Ron's wizard's chess skills were commendable.
"Want another game?" Ron asked hopefully, already beginning to reset the pieces.
Harry waved his hand and collapsed onto his four-poster bed. He reached for a tome that lay on his nightstand. "Forget it. I've already suffered through four consecutive defeats."
"Oh, come on," Ron protested, abandoning the chess set to look over at his roommate with disbelief. "What in Merlin's name are you reading?"
The sight of Harry Potter willingly opening a book outside of homework requirements was a betrayal of their unspoken pact against unnecessary academic pursuits.
Harry held up the book so Ron could see its faded gold lettering: Ancient Runes Made Easy.
"Let me see that," Ron said, his expression shifting from disbelief to curiosity as he took the book. He flipped through several pages of incomprehensible symbols and complex diagrams before quietly returning it to Harry's hands, his face turned slightly green.
"What's wrong with you?" Harry asked, noting his sudden change in complexion.
"Sudden onset of severe headache," Ron muttered, pressing his palms against his temples. "Those symbols make my brain hurt just looking at them."
Harry chuckled and reopened the book, though he shared Ron's sentiment.
The ancient symbols seemed to dance mockingly across the pages, their meanings as elusive as golden snitches. He didn't particularly enjoy forcing himself through such obscure and challenging material, but Adrian's words echoed in his memory: this knowledge would be helpful for his future magical development.
Hermione would probably devour this book like a delicious meal, he thought with a mixture of admiration and bewilderment. She was, after all, the terrifying existence who treated A History of Magic—commonly viewed as the most sleep-inducing textbook ever written—as light entertaining reading.
Thinking of this, Harry couldn't help but feel a bit dejected.
How did Hermione manage to do it?
"I'm going to sleep," Ron said after another half hour of watching Harry struggle with runic translations.
Harry nodded in agreement, his eyelids were also growing heavy as the ancient symbols began to blur together. The book was proving more effective than any sleeping draught.
As for their other three roommates, they had already entered dreamland long ago. Their beds were close together, so the two could whisper without disturbing others.
"When do you think, things will return to normal?" Ron sighed as he lied under quilt. "This term is nearly finished and--"
"Be quiet!" Harry sharply whispered.
"What's wrong?" Ron immediately sat up in bed, his earlier drowsiness vanishing as he noticed the urgency in Harry's voice.
In the moonlight streaming through the dormitory windows, he could see Harry also sitting up in bed, his brow furrowed.
Harry didn't reply, maintaining that position.
"Hungry... hungry... so hungry..."
A strange voice pierced his eardrums like an ice pick, and Harry's spine instantly stiffened.
It was unmistakably the basilisk's voice.
Though faint, as if coming from a great distance, Harry was absolutely certain of its identity. He had heard that particular tone too many times to be mistaken.
Every trace of sleepiness fled from Harry's system. His heart hammered against his ribs as he threw back his covers and began frantically pulling on his clothes with trembling hands.
Ron watched Harry frantically pulling on his jacket and couldn't help but ask,
"Where are you going at this hour?"
"To find Professor Westeros," Harry said anxiously. "I heard that voice again—the basilisk. The monster is out again. I have to notify Professor Westeros immediately!"
"Are you sure you want to go out at this hour?" Ron glanced toward the window, where a full moon hung like a silver galleon against the sky. The castle would be patrolled by professors, and students caught wandering after hours now faced severe consequences. "If we're discovered, we'll be in detention until we leave."
"There's no choice," Harry said with grim determination, "I'm the only one who can hear that voice. If I can get to Professor Westeros now, we might finally have a chance to end this nightmare."
Ron groaned softly but began climbing out of his warm bed, fumbling for his jumper in the darkness. "Alright, alright. I'll accompany you. But if we end up scrubbing cauldrons until summer, I'm holding you personally responsible."
Harry thought for a moment and pulled his Invisibility Cloak from under his bed.
With the Invisibility Cloak, there shouldn't be much of a problem.
The two crept out of their dormitory. The Gryffindor common room lay shrouded in darkness, illuminated only by the fading embers in the fireplace.
Ron, blinded by the darkness, promptly walked into a small table, sending it scraping across the stone floor.
"Shh—" Harry turned around, his heart leaping into his throat as he scanned the room for signs of discovery.
Of course, no one was there; it was eleven o'clock at night.
"What's wrong? Oh no, what time is it!?"
A sleepy voice drifted from the direction of the sofas, and both boys froze.
However, when they saw who had spoken, they both breathed a sigh of relief.
"Hermione?" Ron whispered, his voice filled with surprise and relief. "What are you doing here?"
"Oh, I accidentally fell asleep while studying," Hermione mumbled, rubbing her eyes as she struggled to full consciousness. "How terrible—why didn't anyone wake me up? I could have caught pneumonia sleeping here."
The scene felt oddly familiar to Harry, stirring memories of their first year when Hermione had also waited for them in this very common room. However, now she was already one of them and there was nothing to worry about.
"What mischief are you two planning now?" Hermione asked, squinting at them through the dim light. A sneeze came over her, and she shivered slightly.
Despite the late spring season, the nights remained chilly within the castle, and her nap seemed to have left her having caught cold.
Harry quickly explained, watching as Hermione's expression shifted from sleepy confusion to sharp alertness.
"Then we need to hurry!" She said rising from the sofa. "I'm coming with you—on your own, you'll definitely make a complete mess of things."
The three made their way carefully through the castle's corridors. In the nighttime, the corridor was very cold and quiet.
"Actually, we don't need to be quite so cautious," Hermione whispered as they pressed themselves against a wall to avoid a patch of moonlight streaming through a tall window. "Even if we're discovered, we can explain that we're seeking a professor to report an emergency, not doing anything else."
Although Harry felt Hermione's words made some sense, he still shook his head. "We can't risk alerting our enemy. That basilisk is extremely cunning—it always manages to vanish before anyone can confront it. To finally capture it, we need to catch it off guard."
The castle's new patrol system meant that professors regularly walked these corridors throughout the night, but fortune smiled upon the trio. They encountered no wandering teachers, no prefects, and—most importantly—no sign of Filch or his cat, Mrs. Norris.
They reached the door to Adrian's office without incident.
Harry knocked softly on the door, then tried the handle with growing desperation. The door remained firmly locked, and no response came from within the office.
"Professor Westeros isn't in his office. He might be on patrol duty tonight," Hermione said.
"That voice is still echoing in my head. Since Professor Westeros isn't here, let's find another professor—anyone will do. Where's the nearest professor's office?"
"Er..." Ron's expression grew peculiar, as if he were thinking of an unpleasant meal. "The closest would be... Lockhart's office, I'm afraid. Though we could make the longer journey to Professor McGonagall's quarters."
"Lockhart is absolutely not an option," Harry said firmly. "Let's go to Professor McGonagall."
Ron and Hermione both nodded in agreement
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