Chapter 22: Message on the wall

It was past midnight, Jack and Colin were in their beds, still discussing the message on the wall. Merlin wanted them to fall asleep already so he could sneak out to talk to Dumbledore, but they were too stimulated about the event to wind down. If the Chamber of Secrets had indeed been opened, the situation was grave, and it bothered him how the dead cat fit into the picture. He had no time to waste and had to cheat. He whispered an incantation to put the boys to sleep, and it worked instantly, allowing him to sneak out of the Gryffindor Tower.

He was cautious when he walked the dark corridors and had to duck behind a corner when a couple of professors passed by. It would be difficult to explain what a student like him was doing out of bed at this hour, especially tonight.

"Lemon drop," he said the password to the stone gargoyles, and they revealed the entrance to Dumbledore's office. He listened closely at the door to ensure no one else was there. Since it was quiet inside, he knocked.

"Come in," Dumbledore's tired voice said.

The old wizard sat behind his desk, his glasses thrown aside, both hands supporting his head. He looked understandably troubled.

Merlin sat in front of him and broke the silence. "Did Harry see who did it?"

Albus leaned back in his chair with a heavy sigh. "He said he didn't, but I suspect that he's hiding something."

"Why did they kill the cat?"

"She's not dead. Petrified."

Merlin huffed. "It takes a potent Dark Magic to turn a cat into a statue. What type of creature are we dealing with?"

"No one knows."

Albus pinched the bridge of his nose where his spectacles normally sat while a brass clock on the wall ticked away the seconds. The school relied on him to provide answers, to keep the children safe. It had to be tiring to carry a weight like that on his shoulders.

"I want to help," Merlin said, trying to reassure his friend that he wasn't alone in this burden. "Tell me, what do you know?"

Albus sighed. "You're familiar with the Chamber's history?"

"Yes. It was said that Salazar built a secret chamber where he hid a monster that would rid Hogwarts of Muggleborns. In the past, I've searched this castle along with many others. No one could find it. Apparently, only Salazar's descendants can locate it and release the monster. Some kind of blood magic is hiding its location, that's what I'm guessing."

"And then the legend was proven true fifty years ago," Albus continued. "Many were petrified before the attacks stopped. One student died. I always feared the day when they would resume. Do we have another Slytherin's Heir attending Hogwarts or is this the same person?"

That was a good question. Fifty years was a long time. Why would the Heir return now?

"You've gotten to know some students already," Albus said. "Did you notice anything strange? Anyone acting suspiciously?"

At first, Merlin couldn't think of anyone suspicious among the Hogwarts children. The Malfoy kid was a nuisance, but he fit the type who couldn't back their threats with action.

But Jack came to the feast late. How did he know that his sister was in the library? Why did it take him so long to get her to the Great Hall? More likely, Jack had scheduled to meet his sister before the feast so they could do something together.

There were a lot of questions surrounding the boy. Just the other day, Merlin saw him display a very strange type of magic as frost built under his hands with no spell or incantation said. But did he really suspect him? Having strange magic wasn't an offense in itself. He needed more proof before he started pointing fingers at innocent children.

"No, I haven't noticed anything strange yet. I'll keep my eyes and ears open."

Dumbledore's eyes were piercing him, and Merlin maintained a blank face. His old friend was good at recognizing when he was being lied to, but Merlin was an excellent liar.

"Find out what Harry knows. It could be important," Albus said.

"I'll increase my efforts. What will you tell the students about the Chamber of Secrets?"

"It's hardly a reason to cause a panic."

"This is only the beginning. If you don't explain to them how grave the situation is, they will ignore all warnings."

"We don't really know if the Chamber was opened though, do we?" Albus spoke in a soft tone as if he was explaining a difficult concept. "All we have is a message on the wall and a petrified cat. It could very well be a twisted Halloween prank."

"So you'll wait until a student is petrified, or worse, dead?"

"It's impractical to upset everyone before we have all the facts, don't you think?"

Merlin stood up, his temper rising. "You're making a mistake. Students need to be warned about the severity of the threat."

Albus rose from his chair and towered over him. "This might be difficult for you to understand," he said while smiling sympathetically and looking down at him, "but this is the best course of action. I'll take it from here. You worry yourself with Harry and leave the rest to me."

This felt all too familiar. Merlin never understood what it was about him that made people not take him seriously. He never learned how to carry himself in a way that would demand respect. It wasn't helping that he was a child now, but Albus knew who he was. It hurt that his own friend talked to him in a condescending tone. Or maybe, he overestimated his friendship with the old wizard.

"You look tired," Albus said in a softer tone. "You should get back to bed. Good Night, Merlin."

Merlin had heard enough. He turned around and stormed out of there without a word. Dumbledore's patronizing tone brought back too many memories. Would Merlin always be the peasant who was unworthy of speaking up in court? What more would he have to accomplish to earn some respect? He had saved the world on so many occasions, he lost count. He conquered death. He was unmatched in all magic disciplines. And still, no one listened! And he was always right in these situations. He hated always having a reason to say "I told you so."

As he stomped down the hallway, the chill of the castle gradually cooled down his temper, forcing him to think. If Dumbledore was going to be passive about the situation, it was Merlin's responsibility to take matters into his own hands.

He climbed the stairs to the second floor, found the message on the wall, and searched for clues. He rubbed a finger at the blood, but it didn't come off. A spell was cast on it so the message would be difficult to erase. Halloween prank, right. This was difficult magic, not some child's play.

Even if the Chamber hadn't been opened, they might have a psychopath running around the school. Only a very special breed of disturbed person would display a petrified cat by hanging it by the tail. How long before this psycho hungered for bigger, more challenging prey? No one was safe until Merlin got to the bottom of it.

A puddle of water on the ground gave him an idea. Water was useful—as people walked through it, they left behind an impression of themselves. Hydromancy was like riding a bike, he hoped.

He concentrated on the water, said an incantation, and stirred the surface with his finger. A warmth went through him as the magic took hold. As the ripples smoothed out, a vision formed on the surface, allowing him to view the events that had transpired here.

The hallway was submerged in darkness. The torches provided very little illumination. A hooded figure walked up to the wall, his feet splashing in the puddle, a dead rooster secured under his arm. He wasn't in a hurry. His face was hidden in the hood's shadow, but he appeared young like a first or second-year student. He dipped a hand in the rooster's wound and started to paint the letters on the wall with its blood.

No one disturbed the slow project. Everyone was at the feast, but this one student who was alone, unnoticed. There was no passion, anger, or mischievous glee in his movements. It was calculated and casual. Cold. After finishing the writing, the student cast a spell on it and left. He returned with a petrified cat, which he tied to the torch, and walked away.

It was quiet in the hallway. The cat gently swung from the bracket. Its shadow was the only companion in this horrid moment. Soon after, Harry, Ron, and Hermione came splashing through the puddle and froze in shock when they saw the message on the wall and the cat. Harry looked horrified.

And here, the vision ended. The surface of the water turned back into an ordinary puddle and reflected Merlin's face back to him.

"They missed him by a minute!" Merlin growled.

But how did Harry and his friends know to show up there? They came running as if guided. Did they overhear someone's plans? Did they notice any suspicious clues? Once they found the message and the cat, they had to have realized how serious the situation was, so why would they withhold that information from their Headmaster?

》《

Cold, wet floor, and silence.

Ginny opened her eyes. Her cheek was stuck to the floor tile. She breathed through her mouth and watched the ripples of the air current in a puddle of water, her mind too muddled to form a coherent thought. Her body felt like it wasn't completely there. Did she even have one? If she was still asleep, it was a strange dream. A shiver ran through her. She had to have a body if she felt cold.

She laid there for a while longer, trying to feel something other than cold. She moved a finger. It worked. She felt it. She moved more fingers. Progress. She tried to get up but couldn't. Her muscles felt like jelly. Weak. She felt so weak.

She took a moment to look around. It was the wretched abandoned bathroom again. Moaning Myrtle wasn't there yet thankfully. She was alone. Alone with the silence and the cold floor.

She hated this bathroom. She had ended up here so many times already. Why was her sleepwalking always bringing her here? The onslaught of anger restored an ounce of her strength and she tried to get up. Her arms shook under her weight. Now, one leg, the other, and she was upright, but her vision swam, and she waited for it to stabilize.

Ginny made her way out and shuffled down the dark hallway, using the wall to compensate for her poor balance. The walk to the Gryffindor Tower was taking forever. She stared at her feet as she shuffled forward. Left foot. Right foot. Left foot. Right foot.

"Just keep going and you'll get there. Keep going."

She looked ahead to see if she was any closer. She wasn't even halfway down the hallway. Then, her eyes landed on the wall. There was something written on it. Her brain wasn't working enough to read it, but she was drawn to it. She traced one letter with her finger. The dim light of the torch illuminated her hand, which was dirty with something dark red, the same shade as the writing.

Ginny stumbled away from the wall. It had to be a coincidence. People didn't just write things while sleepwalking. She wasn't the one who vandalized the school. It couldn't have been her. Ginny rubbed her dirty hands on her damp robes and got back to the task of walking. Just a little more and she'd be at the tower. Just a few more steps and she would get into her warm dry bed. Just a little longer.

She made it to the stairs and looked up. There were so many stairs. Muggles had invented a handy thing called an elevator. Why couldn't wizards do something similar? She started to climb and made it up only on sheer willpower, not body strength.

"Password," the portrait of Fat Lady said.

Ginny swayed on her feet and blinked slowly. Password, right.

"It's one word," she mumbled.

Fat Lady rolled her eyes. "Yes, it's one word. Tell me the word so I can let you in."

What was she doing here anyway?

"Bed," Ginny mumbled.

"Oh, dear. That's not the password. Think about it. I know that you know it."

Not bed? But she needed a bed—her soft warm bed with the cozy blanket her mum knitted.

"Wake up!" Fat Lady shrieked.

Ginny opened her eyes. She didn't notice when she closed them. Fat Lady looked at her kindly while Ginny tried to remember what she was doing here. Oh, she needed to get in to get to her bed.

"Password, dear."

Ginny racked her brains for the word. She was sure she'd said it earlier today. Was it today? She wasn't sure what day today was. Maybe it was all a dream.

"Wattlebird," she exclaimed.

Fat Lady let out a breath of relief. "Get to bed, dear. It's late," Fat Lady said and the painting swung open.