Petrified

Dumbledore reached the corridor with several professors behind him.

The commotion had drawn half the castle. Students came hurrying from both ends of the passage, and for a moment the broad corridor felt almost too crowded to breathe. Then they saw the words on the wall, the rigid cat hanging beneath them, and Filch standing there with bloodshot eyes. The noise died at once.

"Enemies of the Heir, beware," Crabbe muttered, staring at the message. "Next time it will be you, Mud-"

"Shut up," Draco snapped under his breath.

He caught Crabbe by the sleeve before the idiot could finish. Draco had already suffered enough for that word this year, and he had no intention of losing one of his followers to Edmund's temper.

Edmund glanced at him with faint surprise. Draco was still Draco, still eager to oppose Harry whenever possible, but the boy had changed. He had become more direct, almost openly competitive, instead of hiding every thought behind petty malice. It was not the time to study him, but Edmund noticed.

Filch was already accusing Harry.

"My cat! My poor Mrs. Norris! He did it! I know he did it!"

"Argus," Dumbledore said quietly, "this is not the place."

"He's a Squib!" someone whispered.

The word spread like sparks through dry grass. Several students stared at Filch with fresh astonishment, as though the castle caretaker had suddenly become stranger than the petrified cat on the wall.

Hermione leaned closer to Edmund. "What is a Squib?"

"Someone born into a wizarding family who can't use magic," Edmund murmured.

Hermione's expression shifted from curiosity to discomfort. Filch heard enough mockery on an ordinary day. This was worse.

Edmund looked toward Harry and Ron. "Why were you two even here?"

"They went to Nearly Headless Nick's deathday party," Hermione said. "Somehow they ended up in this corridor afterward."

Edmund remembered the detail a moment later. In the original story, Harry had indeed been here after the deathday party. It had seemed unimportant enough that the memory had sunk into the background.

Dumbledore raised a hand. "Professor Lockhart, may we use your office?"

"Of course!" Lockhart said at once, visibly pleased to be useful in front of an audience. "Just upstairs. Perfectly suited for an investigation of this sort."

Dumbledore nodded. He led the professors, Harry, Ron, Filch, and Mrs. Norris toward Lockhart's office. Before leaving, he turned back.

"Mr. Gaunt, come with us, please."

Edmund was a little surprised, but he wanted a closer look at Mrs. Norris anyway. He mouthed "Room of Requirement" to Cho before following.

Inside Lockhart's office, Dumbledore laid Mrs. Norris on the desk and brought a candle close. His long fingers moved carefully over the cat's stiff body, testing, tracing, searching for traces of the curse.

Lockhart did not stay silent for long.

"I have encountered similar dark enchantments, naturally. No one understands Dark magic better than I do."

No one answered him.

Lockhart's smile stiffened. After another attempt to name three increasingly absurd countercurses, he retreated to a chair and let the real professors work.

Edmund studied Mrs. Norris from the side. The petrification was not like Petrificus Totalus. A victim of the Full Body-Bind Curse remained conscious, able to sense the world while the body refused to move. Mrs. Norris was different. Her body was locked, yes, but her awareness seemed absent, sunk into something close to suspended sleep.

If Edmund had not been able to sense the life still inside her, he would have thought she was dead.

"She is not dead, Argus," Dumbledore said at last.

Filch clutched the back of a chair.

"This is a very unusual form of petrification," Dumbledore continued, "but it can be reversed. Professor Sprout has a crop of Mandrakes coming along. Once they mature, we will be able to restore Mrs. Norris."

Filch looked slightly steadier, though grief quickly curdled back into anger. "He still did it. Potter did it."

"Mr. Filch," Edmund said, more because the man's shouting was becoming irritating than from any desire to defend Harry, "Harry's spellwork is nowhere near good enough to petrify a cat like this."

Harry did not know whether to thank him or feel insulted.

Snape gave a cold little laugh. Ever since Harriet had become Harry again, the fragile ceasefire between them had vanished, and if anything, Snape seemed even less inclined to be kind.

Dumbledore looked at Edmund. "Your thoughts?"

"The effect resembles a curse more than ordinary petrification," Edmund said. "But I have a question. Why does Hogwarts happen to have Mandrakes at exactly the right time?"

The office went quiet. It was a sharp question, and everyone in the room seemed to feel it.

Professor Sprout answered before Dumbledore could. "The Ministry ordered a batch for emergency reserves. Mandrakes are not impossibly rare, but they are specialized enough that most people do not grow them unless there is a need. Since they were already here, I used them as lesson material. Freshly matured Mandrakes are strongest for restorative draughts."

That explanation was reasonable. Edmund nodded.

Dumbledore did not look offended. If anything, he seemed to have considered the coincidence himself.

When the meeting ended, Edmund returned to the Room of Requirement with Harry and Ron. Cho, Hermione, Fred, and George were already waiting inside.

Fred grabbed Ron first. "Well?"

"Are you all right?" George asked.

"I'm fine," Ron said, though his face was still pale.

Harry looked around the room. "I heard the voice again." Everyone turned to him. Harry swallowed. "It was saying... rip. Kill. Tear." The silence that followed was colder than the corridor outside.

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