The Spiteful Sorting Hat

The writing on the wall

Blaise drew his wand and cast a spell to levitate the cat from the wall sconce. Millie was more distraught than Harry had ever seen her. She rushed to the hovering form and grabbed Mamon from midair, sobbing that someone had killed her cat. Harry and Blaise did their best to console her, but they were terribly frightened by this macabre discovery. Neither was sure what to do.

At first, Harry assumed that the blood smeared across the wall came from the poor creature, but as he gingerly pulled Mamon from Millie's trembling hands, cringing at its stiff, immobile form, he realized that there was no blood in his fur. He shuddered. If the blood didn't belong to the cat, then where did it come from?

He stared up at the message again, wondering who the heir was, and what hidden horrors this "chamber of secrets" was meant to contain.

"Do you think the voice you heard did this?" Blaise whispered to Harry.

Harry shook his head. "The voice was following the smell of blood. Whoever did this must have done it before..."

They both stared at the words, supporting Millie between them, who was still sobbing over her cat.

"Let's get out of here," Blaise said.

Harry was thinking the same thing. It wouldn't be good to be seen standing before this bizarre notice, holding a dead cat. But before he could agree with his friend, he heard the sound of quick footsteps approaching. Cursing his bad luck, Harry turned to see the very last person he wanted to encounter in this situation.

Professor Snape swooped upon them, his black cloak billowing behind him like the wings of a great bat. Harry knew better than to speak first. He had endured the usual jeers and calculated sabotage from the potions master this year, but Harry had learned to keep his head down and speak as little as possible, and thus he had managed to get by without an outright confrontation with the professor. Now there could be no escape. Without a doubt, Snape would find some way to blame Harry for this incident.

But Snape's attention was not directed at Harry. He eyes were transfixed by the words scrawled on the wall, and his already sallow face became as white as parchment. His thin lips moved along as he read the message quietly to himself, then his gaze fell on the three students huddled beneath the letters.

"Potter..." he said, just as Harry knew he would, "Some sort of Halloween prank?"

Normally, Millie would have jumped to his aid. She seemed to be the one Snape hated the least of Harry and his friends, but she was still too upset to be of any use. Instead, Blaise came to Harry's rescue, stating confidently that Harry had nothing to do with the writing on the wall.

"I've been with him all day, Professor," he explained, "Harry didn't do this."

"Then what could have brought the three of you here, to a deserted corridor, when the rest of the school is still observing the feast?" Snape asked suspiciously.

"I could ask you the same thing." Harry blurted. Blaise glared at him for this interference, but it had just occurred to Harry that Snape hadn't been at the feast. It was suspicious that he'd show up now, just after Harry lost track of the voice and found Mamon instead.

"Not that I owe you an explanation, Potter, but I despise Halloween," Snape said, pursing his thin lips as if the very word tasted sour to him. "And now that I've satisfied your curiosity, perhaps you'd do well to answer my question before I call Mr. Filch about this mess?"

"Millie's cat," Blaise answered quickly, perhaps fearing that Harry would say something irresponsible to the professor again, "He's been missing all day. We thought we heard him meowing, and followed him here."