The Petrified Cat

Harry, of course, didn't go straight back to his Gryffindor dorm. He first went to the Abandoned Classroom on the Fourth Floor to confirm where Fluffy was before returning home satisfied.

Wednesday's Defense Against the Dark Arts was as dull and boring as ever, but the added amusement was that Professor Quirrell had started picking on Gryffindor as well.

Perhaps it was revenge for being hit on the head with a snowball before the Christmas holidays, or perhaps it was the pain of being bitten on the head by that Chinese chomping cabbage, but in any case, Professor Quirrell's gaze towards Harry was somewhat utterly insane.

"What did Harry do to him?" Hermione asked in a low voice. "Look at Quirrell... my God, I swear even Snape wouldn't look at him like that."

"Oh, it's nothing," Ron replied. "It was just a little misunderstanding between Harry and Quirrell."

"What misunderstanding?" Hermione asked in a low voice.

"It was just that I accidentally threw that Chinese chomping cabbage on the back of his head."

Ron said casually, picking up a chicken leg from the table, his eyes gleaming, licking his lips and muttering, "My darling!"

Hermione was stunned by Ron's words.

"You call this a minor misunderstanding?"

"What else?" Ron took a bite of his chicken leg, his brows relaxing with satisfaction, revealing a contented expression. "Harry didn't do it on purpose, and besides, it wasn't serious enough for him to need treatment from Madam Pomfrey."

"Good heavens," Hermione exclaimed, shaking her head. "We had Professor Snape before, and now we have Quirrell. This year's House Cup..."

"Relax, we're not going to win the House Cup anyway. You can't expect Professor Snape to not find fault with us and deduct points, can you?" Ron was quite nonchalant. He then said to Seamus and Neville, "Hey, Seamus, Neville, tonight is the night you officially participate in the Dueling Club."

This was Harry's decision. Anyway, there was an Astronomy class at 11 p. m. tonight, and during the time before he finished his solitary confinement and went to class, he could reasonably recruit two new friends to join the Dueling Club.

"Then I'll have to test your mettle today, Ron," Seamus said eagerly.

"Okay... Oh, remember to bring Harry two Meiji, he's still in solitary confinement in Professor Snape's office." Ron suddenly remembered that his good friend hadn't eaten yet, so he changed the subject.

He didn't want to be blown away by Seamus's Charms; he'd rather wait until he learned the Shield Charm spell before discussing actual combat training with Seamus.

"Don't just bring Meiji, bring something else too," Hermione reminded her. "The crème brûlée was really good today, and... bring some fruit too, so we can have a balanced diet."

While his friends were researching dietary balance for Harry, Harry was receiving one-on-one tutoring from a renowned teacher in Snape's underground office.

Today's Extra Lesson is still Draught of Living Death, but the roles are reversed; Harry is now brewing the Draught of Living Death.

Watching Harry's skillful movements, Snape's furrowed brows gradually relaxed, and the corners of his mouth, which had been drooping to the sides, lifted up.

This child... seems to really resemble his mother, and has inherited her talent in Potions.

Harry didn't notice Snape's change in expression; half his mind was focused on brewing the Draught of Living Death Brew, and the other half on how to deal with Quirrell.

He became increasingly certain that there was a dark secret behind Quirrell's head.

During class, he secretly used his Revealing Charm, only to find that Quirrell's large turban was protected by a mysterious force, making it impossible to see through.

"I'm so hungry... so hungry... for so long..."

Harry's stomach growled.

Huh? He scratched his head, as if he had just heard a sound.

Snape, of course, heard Harry's rumbling stomach. He just grunted and said in a drawn-out voice, "A little Troll like you does need to grow. Your understanding old professor won't keep you for long. There's no need to protest to him like this."

Harry didn't know how to explain, so he simply didn't. He took the container and began to fill it with the brewed Draught of Living Death.

"So hungry... blood... slaughter!"

A cold voice rang out, Harry looked up abruptly; the voice seemed to be coming from directly above him.

"Professor, did you hear anything?" Harry looked at Snape. "I think I heard a voice above me, a cold voice, saying something about blood and killing?"

Snape stared intently at Harry, his dark eyes devoid of emotion.

After a long silence, he slowly said, "Get out of class dismissed."

"Thank you, Professor." Harry hurriedly got up, his little hands not very clean, grabbed the bottle of brewed Draught of Living Death and left.

"Stop!" Snape called out to him, and as Harry turned around, he reached out his hand to Harry.

Reluctantly, Harry had no choice but to return the bottle of Draught of Living Death to him. What a stingy guy...

"Hmph." Snape snorted, picked up the bottle of Draught of Living Death, turned around without hesitation, and put it in the cabinet.

"Tear you apart... slaughter you..."

The cold voice rang out again, and this time Harry heard it clearly; the voice was right above him!

"Professor, did you really not hear anything?" Harry asked Snape again to confirm.

Snape smirked and said coldly, "I think I've already let you go to lunch. There's no need to use this excuse to imply anything more, Mr. Potter."

Harry, feeling snubbed, said goodbye to Snape and left the Dungeon Classroom.

As soon as he stepped outside, he pressed his ear against the wall, trying to hear the sound again.

As he expected, the voice rang out again.

"Murder... it's time..."

The sound grew fainter and fainter, but there seemed to be some movement or rustling of something moving around.

Harry followed the sound in the direction it went, went up the stairs, and arrived at the Entrance hall.

The sound finally disappeared, and Harry found himself in a puddle.

He lowered his head and removed his foot from the puddle. Reflected in the puddle was a bright, flickering flame, and something seemed to be hanging beside it.

Harry looked up and stared intently; hanging there was a cat.

It's Mrs. Norris, Filch's cat.

It no longer struts ahead of Fei as it used to, searching for the students' whereabouts; instead, it hangs stiffly next to the torch, its mouth agape in a wide grin.

"My God, what are you doing, Potter?"

Filch appeared out of nowhere and stumbled toward Mrs. Norris, helplessly reaching out his hands and jumping twice, only to find that he couldn't reach the cat.

At the same time, a commotion arose as the students who had finished their dinner left the Great Hall and walked to the outer perimeter of the Entrance hall.

Filch ignored the students behind him and vented all his anger on Harry.

"It was you! You! You killed Mrs. Norris!" he screamed. "I'm going to... I'm going to kill you!"

After roaring, it lunged at Harry, baring its teeth and claws.

Harry sneered, pulled his wand from his pocket, and aimed it at Filch was lunging at him.

He was already very hungry, and now that he had been wrongly accused, his anger flared up instantly.

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(Also, my good brothers, please read this every day. I would be extremely grateful.)