The Spiteful Sorting Hat

The writing on the wall

Suddenly, a distant rumble of motion and voices arose from down the hall. The feast had ended, and any moment now the hall would be filled with students returning to their common rooms. Dumbledore gave a sign that he too was aware of the bustle, and suggested aloud that they move their party elsewhere.

"My office is the closest, headmaster!" Lockhart said, stepping forward eagerly. He had recovered from his initial shock and seemed eager to be of service somehow.

Dumbledore thanked him indifferently for the offer, and instructed Lockhart to lead the way. Lockhart did so happily, allowing Dumbledore to exchange a few whispered words with Professor McGonagall behind his back. Harry didn't catch what was said, but the next moment, McGonagall turned to face him.

"You three had better come along with us," she said before turning her back and marching in the wake of the headmaster.

Snape gave Harry and Blaise a shove, causing them the stumble forward, "You heard the professor. Get moving."

Harry walked in silence, not daring to whisper anything to Blaise with Snape at his back. His mind was racing with the possibilities of what had happened, and what was about to happen. It was clear that Snape suspected him, but Harry wasn't going to let himself be blamed for this accident. The very first chance he got, he would tell Dumbledore everything.

They arrived Lockhart's office, and Harry had to repress his exclamation of disdain. Lockhart had decorated the walls with pictures of himself. Some of the portraits peered curiously out of their frames at this intrusion, while Harry spied others darting out of sight, their hair in painted rollers.

The real Lockhart was standing by his desk next to Dumbledore, who had placed Mamon before him and continued his quiet inspection. Lockhart was busy lamenting the fact that he had not been there when the event occurred, as he knew just the spell that would have "saved the poor animal."

Dumbledore turned away from him, ignoring him entirely, and approached Millie with a kind smile on his face.

"He is not dead, Miss Bulstrode."

Millie gave a small sniffle and looked up into Dumbledore's face, her bloodshot eyes wide and disbelieving.

"Not dead?" she asked.

"No, not dead," Dumbledore repeated, "He has been petrified. But he can be cured."

"Petrified!" exclaimed Professor McGonagall, "Albus, are you sure?"

"Quite sure. The question is, how?"

"Perhaps Mr. Potter would have some explanation," Snape suggested, his voice full of malicious intent, "After all, he claims he heard the cat meowing only moments before its body was discovered."

Dumbledore turned his light blue eyes to Harry, his curiosity evident. Harry braced himself. He had been prepared for this moment. It was his opportunity to tell Dumbledore the truth, from the mysterious voice to discovering the bloody wall. But now that the moment was upon him, he hesitated. He couldn't understand what made him pause, but he felt that it would be foolish to confer this secret now, in front of Snape and the other teachers. He found himself saying, "We only thought it was Mamon. It could've just as easily been Mrs. Norris, or some other cat."

Dumbledore observed Harry thoughtfully, then said, "It would take very powerful dark magic to do something like this. I doubt it is within the power of any second-year, Professor Snape."

He said this, no doubt to clear away the suspicion Snape was trying to bring against him, but Harry was not comforted. There was something about the way Dumbledore's gaze pierced through him that made Harry think he was not completely in the clear.