"Filch! Stop!"
Dumbledore rushed into the scene just as Filch looked ready to throw himself at Cormac McLaggen. A few professors trailed behind him. With a gentle wave of his wand, he freed Mrs. Norris from the torch bracket where she hung.
"Prefects, take the others to the Great Hall. Argus, the professors, and you, Mr. McLaggen, come with me," Dumbledore said. "I think you need to tell us exactly what you saw."
He turned to Caro. "Mr. Richmond, I'm sorry, but…"
Caro, who had already graduated and was no longer a Hogwarts student, understood he should step back in a situation like this.
"No worries, Professor Dumbledore," Caro said with a shrug, showing he got the hint.
"I think the Disciplinary Committee should come along too," Dudley chimed in.
Dumbledore glanced at Dudley, nodding slightly without objection. After all, discipline was the Committee's responsibility.
"Very well, Mr. Dursley, you may join us."
As for Harry and the others, Dumbledore didn't call them along.
"My office is the closest, just upstairs. I think you all could—"
"Thank you, Gilderoy," Dumbledore said evenly, cutting him off. His tone suggested he was recalling some less-than-pleasant memories.
Lockhart's classroom was a shrine to himself, plastered with portraits in every pose and outfit imaginable. Dudley swore he'd never met anyone so full of themselves.
Didn't the guy find it creepy to stare at his own face all day?
Dumbledore placed Mrs. Norris on Lockhart's polished desk and began examining her carefully. McLaggen cowered in the corner, trying to avoid attention. Filch stood to the side, quietly wiping tears with his sleeve. The professors' expressions varied, but Lockhart? He looked downright thrilled—whether from his recent dueling club runner-up win or Mrs. Norris's misfortune, who could tell?
"It must've been a curse that killed her," Lockhart declared, practically bouncing. "Probably the Transfiguration Torture Curse. I've seen it used plenty of times. Such a pity I wasn't here—I know the counter-curse. Could've saved her."
His knack for stirring the pot only made Filch sob harder.
"No, Mrs. Norris, no! I can't lose you!"
Tears streamed down Filch's face. His bond with his cat was deep.
Dudley stepped forward, resting a hand on Filch's shoulder to comfort him.
"Mr. Dursley, Mrs. Norris is dead!" Filch wailed.
He'd never been fond of Dudley—Mrs. Norris seemed to like him more, which sparked some resentment. But in this moment, Filch felt Dudley was the only one who understood his pain.
"She's not dead, Mr. Filch," Dudley said calmly.
Filch's head snapped up, searching Dudley's face to see if he was just being kind.
"Hey, Dudley, how can you say she's not dead?" Lockhart piped up, clearly annoyed. "Look at all that blood! And her body's stiff as a board—obviously dead and hit with a Freezing Charm."
"It's chicken blood," Dudley said, brushing him off.
"I agree with Dudley," Dumbledore added, shutting Lockhart down completely. "She's been petrified, but I'm not yet sure how."
With Dumbledore's confirmation, Filch let out a shaky breath, then turned on McLaggen with a glare that could kill.
"He must know something!"
"I don't know anything! I swear, I didn't see anything!" McLaggen shouted, clearly terrified.
Talk about a weak nerve, Dudley thought.
"Argus, calm down," Dumbledore said soothingly. "This isn't something a third-year wizard could pull off."
"My cat's been petrified!" Filch shrieked, his eyes bulging like he was ready to fight someone. "I want whoever did this punished!"
Dudley pulled out a small vial of potion and dripped a single drop onto Mrs. Norris's stiff body. A faint wisp of black vapor rose, accompanied by a barely noticeable stench.
"What did you find?" Snape asked, stepping closer.
He was immensely proud of his protégé. Dudley had inherited Lily's gift for potions—brilliant, quick to master any brew, just like she had been. It was like seeing her all over again.
In just a year, Dudley was already showing signs of forging his own path in potion-making. If he weren't so young, Snape would've poured every ounce of his knowledge, even his most guarded secrets, into the boy.
Lily's heir should be this exceptional.
"It's not a standard Petrification Charm, and it's not dark magic either," Dudley said.
"Not a Petrification Charm or dark magic?" Snape paused, a possibility dawning on him. "You mean—"
"Exactly, Professor Snape," Dudley nodded, confirming his suspicion. "She was petrified by some magical creature's ability."
"Very likely," Dumbledore said, his brow relaxing slightly at Dudley's explanation.
It made sense—if a magical creature was behind this, it explained everything.
"Please, save her, Mr. Dursley!" Filch pleaded, his voice choked with emotion. "You can do it—you love her too, I know it!"
For the castle's caretaker to beg a student like Dudley, of all people, showed just how much faith he had in him. Despite being only a second-year, Dudley had proven his skill time and again.
"We'll cure her, Argus," Dumbledore said patiently. "Professor Sprout recently acquired some Mandrakes. Once they're fully grown, we can brew a potion to revive Mrs. Norris."
"Professor Dumbledore," Dudley interrupted, a rare move for him. "Actually… I have a mature Mandrake right here."
He unclipped a red-and-white ball from his waist—different from the one that held his pixie. With a flash of light, a Mandrake appeared, looking like a tiny, humanoid baby. It yawned, blinking sleepily at its surroundings.
After a moment, it seemed to realize where it was. With a sharp squeal, it darted behind Dudley's leg, clinging to his trousers and peeking out nervously at the others.
Merlin's beard, what were they looking at?
A Mandrake shaped like a person?
A Mandrake that was hopping around, alive and well?
A Mandrake that didn't scream its head off the moment it left the soil?
What kind of Mandrake was this?