Capítulo 65: Chapter 65: The Missing Old Book
It was the night following the Christmas holidays, marking the students' return to Hogwarts. Within the grandeur of the sprawling Great Hall, a congregation of pupils hailing from the diverse spectrum of ages that grace the venerable halls of Hogwarts had assembled, their voices intertwining into a symphony of worried whispers. The air laid heavily upon them as they conversed amongst themselves.
In the midst of the countless students, figures bearing the mantle of Perfects gracefully navigated, like maestros conducting a harmonious arrangement, instilling a sense of structure and propriety into the bustling scene. These dutiful stewards of discipline not only orchestrated the ballet of youthful exuberance but also dispensed, with a genteel demeanor, the provisions of the night's repose in the form of slumber-ready accoutrements, each sleeping bag a cocoon of respite amid the enchanted surroundings.
It was unusual, but the students appeared rather amicable to this peculiar arrangement in times of unease. After the recent attack left Draco Malfoy petrified, students, much like Hermione, had begun to question the safety within Hogwarts' historic walls. The grim reality was that the castle now held an unsettling air of danger, and the news had quickly spread from one anxious face to the next.
"Do you reckon the professors are getting close to unmasking the heir?" Harry asked, his eyes fraught with worry as he looked upon his fellow Gryffindor students. They all shared the same lingering sense of unease, knowing that Hogwarts' continued existence was at stake. So, they held on to a piece of hope that the guilty party would be swiftly apprehended. Hermione gave a sorrowful shake of her head.
"I'm not sure, Harry," she admitted. "But it seems highly unlikely."
Ron chimed in, his voice quiet and thoughtful, "If only Forester would be as pessimistic as you, Hermione."
At Ron's words, Harry and Hermione froze in place, their expressions mirroring surprise and sudden realisation. "That's right! Forester!" They both exclaimed, a newfound glimmer of hope sparking in their eyes.
Overwhelming joy filled the trio; it was as though they had just discovered a shortcut that could save Hogwarts. Perceiving Professor Forester as their mystical 'wish machine', they hastily sketched a plan to sneak out of the bustling Great Hall.
Frustration dawned on their faces when they were thwarted by a stringent pair of beady eyes. Mrs. Norris, the feline assistant of the castle's caretaker, Filch, stood like a sentinel blocking their path. And where Mrs. Norris was present, Filch was never far behind. Just as they had suspected, Filch emerged from behind the doorway, where he had been lying in wait to nab any student attempting to slip away.
"And just where do you lot think you're scurrying off to?" Filch demanded, his sharp gaze piercing through them.
Harry stuttered, scrambling for an excuse. Thankfully, Hermione interjected, "We have an important clue to relay to Professor Forester!"
Filch, however, was not easily tricked, especially after years of dealing with the notorious Weasley twins. He raised an eyebrow in suspicion and asked, "Seems to me like there's no harm in traipsing along to Professor Flitwick and letting out your clue, isn't there?"
Hermione was caught significantly off-guard, leaving her momentarily speechless.
Filch, who had been observing the trio all day, harbored a strong sense of doubt. "Are the three of ya conspirin' to go on a hunt for the monster that's been haunting Hogwarts? Or might you be the culprits behind unleashin' it from the Chamber of Secrets?"
His abrupt accusation not only shocked Harry, Ron, and Hermione, but also attracted the immediate attention of the surrounding students, stirring up a whirlwind of gasps and hushed whispers.
Ron, aflame with indignation at this false charge, retorted hotly, "We're trying to save Hogwarts! We need to talk to Professor Forester!"
Harry quickly added his plea, "We must see Professor Forester now!" Their heated appeals caught the attention of Professor Flitwick who was diligently overseeing the maintenance of order amongst the students.
Momentarily distracted, the charms professor ushered the trio back towards the Gryffindor area. "Hold on, Sherlock will be here soon. He's currently combing through every boy's dormitory. Just wait here." Satisfied that he had diffused the situation, Professor Flitwick sped off to count the Hufflepuff students.
Now, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were left patiently awaiting their chance, but Seamus, whose appetite for chaos was well known, pose a curious question. "Are you trying to sneak out to find the monster, or hide it in the Chamber of Secrets? Who in your trio is Slytherin's heir?"
If looks could kill, the glare Ron shot at Seamus would have been fatal. "If I were the heir, your name would top the beast's snack list!"
Seamus mockingly retorted, "You wouldn't dare, we share the same room!" Brushing off the teasing, the trio leaned in closer to discuss their strategy.
The dilemma they faced was this: how could they ensure Forester's prediction was that the chances of catching the heir were slim? If he were to predict success the consequences would be dire. "Perhaps we could pose it as a test to Forester himself. After all, it's just a phrase. He might agree, if we explain it to him," Ron suggested, but Hermione stayed uncharacteristically silent.
"What's on your mind, Hermione?" asked Harry, noticing her usual chatty demeanor had turned quiet. Hermione's gaze was distant as she pondered, "When Forester blessed us earlier, he intended every word, right?" Her question threw both Harry and Ron off guard. She continued, "We overlooked a critical factor; under what conditions does the 'curse effect' trigger? Does he have to be genuine, or is the intent irrelevant?"
At Hermione's convoluted proposal, Ron was understandably taken aback, but Harry grasped her implication immediately. "You mean, for Forester's curse to work, he needs to genuinely believe in its outcome?" Hermione nodded in agreement, "My concern is if we simply ask him to recite it, his prediction may not come true, because we don't know what he truly believes about catching the culprit."
Realization hit like a tidal wave leaving Ron looking defeated, "So what's our next move?" His voice wavered, disappointment oozing out over the bleak prospect of relying on Forester's unknown, perhaps unyielding, belief.
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