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Time flew by, and soon it was Halloween.

Fortunately, Sagres was assigned the task of decorating the castle.

He declined Professor Flitwick's offer of help and chose to wander the castle alone.

As his wand spun gently between his fingers, the corridors of Hogwarts began to twist and shift — with each light tap of the wand tip, the wall torches ignited in eerie bursts of blue flame.

Wherever he walked, intricately carved skulls emerged from the stone walls, their jaws opening and closing with cackling laughter, orange-red flames flickering in their eye sockets.

Upside-down bats hung throughout the castle — not ordinary decorations, but large black bats that would suddenly swoop down and stop mid-air, loudly threatening to deduct house points.

"Professor!" called the Fat Lady from the spiral staircase, eagerly waving. "We want new outfits too!"

Sagres didn't refuse. With a gentle wave of his wand, all the once-elegant portrait figures transformed into horror film protagonists—

Sir Cadogan's armor was now rusted and crawling with maggots, and he shouted with delight, "Yaay! That's it! Now that's more like it!"

The Fat Lady, her hair wild and disheveled, crawled halfway out of her frame, whispering hoarsely to passing students, "The password… is… blood…"

But she couldn't hold the act for more than two seconds before bursting into laughter and covering her mouth.

The giant pumpkins Hagrid had grown finally came in handy; transformed into jack-o'-lanterns, they weren't just for decoration. They floated through corridors and passageways, and if a student got too close, the pumpkins would swallow them whole—only to spit them back out a moment later.

And as they spat students out, they'd open their wide maws and spray red candies at others passing by—occasionally even launching the occasional rubber toy.

Some students, hoping to get candy and toys, would deliberately trick unsuspecting classmates into touching the pumpkin lanterns—just to watch them get swallowed.

Thick, grayish-white mist rose from the castle floors, and students waded through it, each step sinking deeper into the haze.

The most terrifying part was that if someone lingered too long in one spot, pale hands would suddenly reach up from the mist and grab at their ankles.

Many young wizards lost their shoes this way.

At the time of the party, the moment the students pushed open the doors to the Great Hall, all sound ceased—the enchanted ceiling had transformed into a churning, blood-red ocean.

Gigantic ghost ships occasionally emerged from the stormy clouds above, skeletal sailors lining their decks and tossing burning paper wads down below.

The long dining tables had turned into the backs of writhing giant centipedes, the cutlery had become carved ribs, and the goblets were filled with bubbling "brain matter drinks."

Candy ghosts would suddenly leap out of dinner plates, while cakes and puddings sprouted arms and let out sharp, piercing screams.

At the Professors' table, Dumbledore's seat had become a throne of white bones, and the others' chairs had morphed into tombstones.

Even the usually bustling house-elves had taken on rotting zombie forms, their bodies twisting mechanically as they served dishes.

All of Hogwarts had descended into a Halloween carnival—the young wizards had never experienced such a thrilling celebration.

Of course, Harry and his two companions were the exception. Having been invited to Nearly Headless Nick's Deathday Party, they spent the night in an underground classroom, watching a group of ghosts sing mournful requiems.

"Did you see the decorations in the corridor when you passed by? Those pumpkins that spray candy were really cool—" Ron's voice sounded oddly out of place in the cold, damp underground classroom.

"Shh!" Hermione hissed, glaring at him. "Sir Nick is giving his speech."

Nearly Headless Nick floated in front of a heap of rotting internal organs, reciting a five-hundred-year-old dirge in a sorrowful tone. The other ghosts hummed along with the requiem, their voices sounding like fingernails scraping a blackboard.

Ron stared at the moldy food on the long table, his stomach growling. "Tsk. It's such a shame. We could've been having a feast in the Great Hall instead of watching a bunch of ghosts eat rotten guts…"

"Stop complaining. At least it's educational," Hermione muttered, not entirely convinced herself. "And we can't go back on our promise. That would be rude... and they'd be upset…"

"But—"

"Enough, Ron. We're already here," Harry said wearily.

They finally endured until the end and emerged from the underground classroom. Just as they were about to head to the Great Hall to grab something to eat, Harry suddenly froze.

"Kill… kill and eat… tear apart…"

"Did you hear that?" Harry suddenly turned to his two companions.

"What?"

"That voice!"

"Are you talking about the sound of bats? I heard that…"

"No, it's the voice that said it wanted to kill someone!"

Ron and Hermione's eyes widened instantly.

"Is this a Halloween prank?" Ron asked, forcing a stiff smile.

"I'm not joking!" Harry said seriously. "It went this way—come on!"

With that, he dashed upstairs, and Ron and Hermione had no choice but to follow.

At last, they stopped, panting, in a dimly lit corridor. The mist was thinning, and something on the wall shimmered under the torchlight. The three of them slowly approached, squinting—

—The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the Heir, beware.—

The crimson letters flowed like blood across the stone wall. Ron gave a dry laugh. "Is this part of the decorations? It's… really convincing. Though I don't get what it means…"

His voice trailed off. By the flickering torchlight, they could clearly make out the dark shape hanging on the wall—Mrs. Norris's stiff body, her tail sticking straight up, her eyes wide open.

"This is…"

"Mrs. Norris," Hermione said grimly.

Just then, a low murmur rose from both ends of the corridor. The feast in the Great Hall had ended, and students—well-fed and cheerful—were chatting loudly as they headed through this main passageway toward their dormitories.

Hermione suddenly grabbed both their arms. "We have to get out of here!"

But her warning came too late.

The crowd surged like a wave, blocking both ends of the corridor.

The chatter stopped abruptly, as if an invisible hand had silenced it. Every student froze, staring at the stiffened cat hanging on the wall.

"Wh-what kind of prank is this?" a Hufflepuff student asked, voice trembling. "There was nothing here when we passed earlier…"

Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood in the center of the corridor, now surrounded by a sea of students who had instinctively backed away, leaving them in an empty pocket of space. The corridor was jammed at both ends—yet no one dared to approach.

"Keep moving! Don't stop!" came Filch's raspy voice from behind the crowd. "If you stop, those bloody claws'll pull off your shoes, and I'll be stuck cleaning up all night! Move along!"

He roughly shoved through the students in his way, stumbling as he forced himself to the front.

But when his eyes landed on what was hanging on the wall, his wrinkled face twisted in horror.

"Mrs. Norris?!" His voice cracked like a rooster's strangled cry. He staggered backward, his trembling hand covering his mouth. "No… no! Who did this? Who did this?!"

His eyes bulged as he scanned the crowd like a viper, and finally locked onto Harry and his two companions at the front.

"It was you…" He rasped, hoarse with fury. "You killed her! I'll make you pay! I'll—!"

He lunged forward suddenly, his bony fingers clawing at Harry like eagle talons. The three recoiled in panic—Ron even knocked over a suit of armor behind him, the crash echoing thunderously through the corridor.

"Calm down, Argus."

Dumbledore's voice cut through the chaos like a bucket of cold water. His silvery-white beard shimmered under the torchlight as he stepped forward slowly, gently lifting Mrs. Norris down from the wall and examining her closely.

"To my office, Headmaster!" Lockhart suddenly squeezed to the front, wearing an exaggerated expression of concern. "My office is the nearest, and—" he lowered his voice—"I happen to have some professional insights on the Dark Arts."

"Thank you, Gilderoy," Dumbledore said calmly with a nod, then turned to Filch and the three students. "You, follow me."

The crowd silently parted to form a path.

Dumbledore walked in front, followed by Filch—clutching Mrs. Norris in his arms—then the pale-faced Harry, Ron, and Hermione, trailed by a group of professors wearing various expressions.