infodatos Chapter 166 One Party and On-site Investigation
Chapter 166 One Party and On-site Investigation
Chapter 166 A Party Involved and On-Site Investigation
A brief silence fell over the office, broken only by Filch's suppressed, heavy breathing. He slumped in his chair, his fingers unconsciously digging into the rough wooden armrests, making a soft scraping sound.
Professor McGonagall's gaze lingered for a moment on his hunched back before shifting to the stiff cat statue on the table. Her lips tightened.
"Mr. Filch." Her voice broke the silence.
Filch jolted, looked up, and his cloudy eyes were filled with confusion.
Professor McGonagall did not avert her gaze. "You personally escort Mrs. Lorris to the school infirmary. Now." Her tone left no room for argument. "Mrs. Pomfrey knows what to do until the mandrake is ripe."
Filch's throat bobbed.
He glanced at McGonagall, then at the cold cat statue on the table, as if he had just been awakened from a nightmare and had identified a clear path. He struggled to his feet, the chair legs scraping harshly against the floor.
"Yes, yes, Professor." His voice sounded like it was being rubbed against sandpaper.
He took off his filthy coat and wrapped the stiff Mrs. Lorris with extreme care, his movements so gentle as to be a stark contrast to his usual roughness, as if he were wrapping a rare and fragile treasure.
He held the bundle in his arms and knelt as he walked toward the door.
"Then," McGonagall's voice came from behind him, "go back to your place. Close the door. Drink something hot. Wait for news."
Filch's back stiffened for a moment, but he simply nodded heavily, opened the door, picked up his cat, and slowly moved into the dimly lit hallway outside.
The door clicked shut again, and the room fell silent once more.
Lockhart, seemingly unable to bear the silence, was the first to speak.
His smile froze, and his fingers unconsciously twirled non-existent folds in his robe.
"A student—dead?" he repeated the word, his voice devoid of its usual embellishment.
But this state lasted only a moment. He immediately straightened his back, as if to bolster his courage, and spoke again in his usual tone: "So that wasn't a prank—it was, 'An enemy of the heir'—Merlin, a murder omen!"
He looked around, seemingly expecting someone to echo his "major discovery," but only saw a few extremely solemn faces.
His voice unconsciously lowered, his tone strained with barely concealed panic despite his forced composure: "We must do something immediately! Perhaps we should suggest that the principal increase vigilance? My book, 'Giddro Lockhart's Fifty Strategies for Dealing with Crises,' mentions the key to handling this situation."
Lynch looked at Lockhart with a calm gaze, his eyes seemingly able to see through the guilty conscience beneath his magnificent robes.
"Thank you for your suggestion, Professor Lockhart." His tone was completely flat. "But right now, our situation is far from ripe for applying your well-established approach. Let's focus on clarifying the basic facts first, shall we?"
Lockhart opened his mouth, seemingly wanting to argue, but under Lynch's calm gaze, he ultimately just awkwardly adjusted the hem of his royal blue robe and swallowed his words.
Snape's dark eyes, like two bottomless pools of cold water, were fixed on McGonagall.
"A student died?" His deep voice cut through the air. "The records of Hogwarts—seem to have never mentioned it."
"Because it was classified as an extremely unfortunate accident." Professor McGonagall's voice was still hoarse. "That's the official record. The detailed information was sealed away, and only a very few people know the truth. That's all I know—the secret room was opened, and a Ravenclaw student tragically lost her life."
"Ravenclaw?" Lynch keenly caught the detail, leaning forward slightly. "Professor McGonagall, any detail could be crucial. What else is recorded about that incident? For example, how was it quelled? Or are there any clues about the monster?"
McGonagall shook her head. "I don't know, Professor Lynch. The record is very vague. It only says that the threat was eliminated and the chamber closed again. But it doesn't mention anything specific about how it was done, nor does it provide any clues about the monster."
She paused, her lips tightening, before continuing, "The only explicit mention in the records is of one person involved. He still works at Hogwarts. Given how extremely painful that history was for him, and the official conclusion already settled, we've never brought it up again. But things are different now," she said, her gaze sweeping over each professor present, "I think it's time we went to visit him."
"A party involved? Oh! A survivor?" Lockhart's eyes lit up again, as if he had finally grasped at a straw. "Then what are we waiting for? Shouldn't we invite him over right away? My office is spacious enough to listen in and have a frank conversation?"
As soon as he finished speaking, Lin Qi's gaze swept over him again indifferently. Although he didn't speak, his eyes were calm and unwavering, as if silently asking him if he had forgotten the conversation from a moment ago.
Lockhart's momentum immediately diminished, and the rest of his words got stuck in his throat.
“Precisely because he is a party who has suffered greatly, and not a suspect,” Professor McGonagall’s voice was icy as she sternly interrupted Lockhart, “we must visit him in person as a sign of respect. Don’t even think about summoning him for ‘interrogation,’ Professor Lockhart.”
This decision was reasonable and no one objected.
So the group left the office and, on their way, returned to the corridor where the incident had occurred the previous night.
That wall is still shocking to behold.
Under the torchlight, the two lines of text, "The secret chamber has been opened. Beware of those who oppose the heir," still gleamed with a damp, dark sheen, scurrying down the wall like peas, the congealed blood emitting a faint, fishy odor.
Lin Qi approached the wall, his fingertips lightly brushing against the bloodstains a short distance away, carefully observing the height of the writing, the strength of the strokes, and the small, splattered bloodstains around them.
A moment later, he stood up. "These bloodstains on the wall aren't human blood."
Snape stood a short distance away, his black robes almost blending into the shadow of the wall.
"That's chicken blood," he added coldly. "More precisely, rooster blood."
Lynch nodded.
His gaze swept across the wall again, lingering for a moment, especially on the height of the writing and the distribution of the scattered bloodstains.
Setting aside the element of magic, a clear image gradually took shape in his mind: a short man, using a brush stained with chicken blood, vigorously writing those slogans, the bloodstains splattering everywhere.
It's highly likely he's a lower-grade student. This conclusion clearly surfaced in his mind.
He straightened up, his gaze briefly meeting Snape's beside him.
There was no emotion in those dark eyes; they merely narrowed slightly before turning to the writing on the wall, as if re-examining the distribution of the bloodstains.
Lynch then realized that Snape had also figured this out.
He turned to Professor McGonagall and stated part of the fact in a calm tone: "It was something like a brush. It wasn't very strong, but it was swung quite hard, so it splashed everywhere."
"What else?" McGonagall pressed, her gaze fixed on him.
"The chicken blood is very fresh," Lynch said. "There aren't many places in the castle where you can easily get fresh rooster blood."
Professor McGonagall nodded solemnly; this was indeed a useful clue.
Lynch continued, "Our current leads only go this far. We need more information. Let's go ask that insider."
Professor McGonagall glanced at the wall of blood-written words one more time, then turned and walked away.
The group silently descended the stairs, passed through the foyer, and exited the castle gates. Led by Professor McGonagall, they headed straight for Hagrid's hut, which appeared particularly lonely in the darkness.