Not a single student left—most of them were dying to see Lockhart and Filch go at it, especially after surviving Lockhart's class. Even the kids who'd just had his "well-prepared" lesson that day weren't budging.
Sure, Lockhart had shown off some decent magic in that class, but when they actually wanted to learn something, he clammed up like a teapot full of dumplings that wouldn't pour. It left everyone seriously disappointed in his teaching skills.
Dumbledore showed up quick, other professors in tow, rushing to the chaotic scene.
Filch was glaring at Lockhart with pure resentment, while Lockhart couldn't even meet his eyes.
Dumbledore glanced at the writing on the wall, then at Lockhart and the petrified cat.
"Gilderoy?" Dumbledore asked, frowning at him.
"It's absolutely not me!" Lockhart blurted out in a panic. "You know I'd never do this to a cat—I love little animals!"
"But that's your signature on the wall!" a loud, excitable voice piped up from the crowd. Someone held up one of Lockhart's signed books high. "It matches perfectly!"
"Signatures can be forged!" Lockhart snapped back. "Especially since I've signed so many books for you all for free! Some student's clearly trying to frame me!"
"Without evidence, please don't make baseless accusations against students," Dumbledore said, his tone turning stern.
"My cat's dead!" Filch wailed, seizing the chance now that Dumbledore seemed to care. "I want the culprit punished!"
"Argus, let's talk in my office," Dumbledore said, picking up Mrs. Norris. His sharp blue eyes peered over his half-moon glasses at Lockhart. "I believe Gilderoy's office is right nearby—mind if we borrow it, Gilderoy?"
"Of—of course…" Lockhart stammered nervously.
"Everyone, back to your dorms," Dumbledore urged the students gently. "You've had your fill of food and drink; now you need a good night's sleep. The professors will handle this—don't panic."
No one looked remotely panicked. Nobody liked Mrs. Norris or Filch anyway, and now the "culprit," Lockhart, was being hauled off by Dumbledore.
"Sweet!" Ron said gleefully on the way back to the dorms. "The two most annoying people just got wrecked!"
"Why would Lockhart write his own name on the wall, though?" Harry wondered, puzzled.
Thanks to Cohen's heads-up, Harry was dead certain Lockhart was the one who'd taken out Mrs. Norris.
But the move was so dumb even a kid could see through it.
"Maybe that's just how celebrities think," Cohen said, making it up as he went. "Craving more attention and fame. '#HogwartsProfessorAttacksColleague'sCat'—sounds like a headline that'd blow up."
"Hermione? Why aren't you happy?" Ron asked, sidling up to her. "It's a great day, and you're not even cracking a smile!"
"I don't think it's funny, Ron," Hermione said, her brow furrowed. "I thought Cohen saying Lockhart wanted to 'murder' Mrs. Norris was just an exaggerated joke—like pulling out her fur or something…"
"Or taking out her *and* Filch together," Ron added darkly, lost in his own imagination.
"That's not the point!" Hermione cut through Ron's fantasy. "Didn't you see the writing on the wall and Lockhart's face when he saw it? 'The Chamber has been opened. Enemies of the Heir, beware.' But when Lockhart read it, he looked totally confused—like he hadn't expected it at all. I could tell!"
"Hermione, after that class, I thought you were done fangirling over Lockhart," Harry said, a bit thrown.
"This isn't about fangirling!" Hermione's brain was racing. "Don't you think there've been too many weird things happening this year? First, you and Harry getting stuck outside the station, then you and Cohen hearing that mysterious voice, now Lockhart attacking Filch's cat—and Harry, didn't you say your scar hurt again a few nights ago?"
"Yeah!" Harry's eyes lit up. "You're saying… there's a conspiracy behind all this?"
"Little detectives, what's the password?"
They'd reached the Gryffindor common room entrance without realizing it. The Fat Lady grinned down at them.
"Cockroach Cluster," Hermione said, barely pausing. "Lockhart attacked Mrs. Norris, but he might not be the one who wrote that message. I don't buy that someone would be dumb enough to sign their own name at a crime scene. If we want answers, we need to figure out what the Chamber is first."
But figuring out the Chamber wasn't happening tonight, and Cohen didn't have a reason—or the desire—to spill any more info to the trio just yet. He needed to play the clueless card a bit longer.
Back in the common room, Cohen headed straight for the dorms, as usual.
"Again, so early?!" Ron said, shocked.
"Why 'again'?" Cohen shot back. "It's past eight. If you don't sleep during school, you won't have time to catch up on it after graduation!"
"I'm hitting the sack too," Harry said, rubbing his scar. "Maybe it's lack of sleep—my scar's hurting again. It's been acting up off and on these past few days."
"Oh no…" Ron groaned, suddenly feeling very alone.
"You could finish this week's homework," Hermione suggested to Ron. "If you get stuck, I'll help."
"I'm so tired, I think I'll sleep too," Ron said, instantly not alone anymore.
Cohen's soul drifted toward Lockhart's office—hoping he wasn't too late to catch the drama.
But the office was dead quiet when he slipped in. Lockhart was alone.
Looked like the professors' meeting had wrapped up. Lockhart wasn't packing his bags, so he must've managed to defend his "innocence."
Cohen watched as Lockhart nervously checked the door a few times, making sure no one was spying or eavesdropping. Then he pulled down the portrait with Voldemort hidden on the back.
"I couldn't—" Lockhart started, but an enraged Voldemort cut him off.
"I heard everything, you idiot!" Voldemort barked. "You screwed up! He's onto you now!"
"Dumbledore didn't figure it out—"
"I'm talking about Cohen!" Voldemort roared. "He must've followed you! Who else would've changed the 'Cohen' you wrote to 'Lockhart' on purpose?!"
"He's just a kid…" Lockhart said, baffled by Voldemort's fury. "As long as Dumbledore—"
"Dumbledore's not the problem!" Voldemort's disappointment in Lockhart was palpable. "You don't get it… I'm so done with you…"
"Wait—you're not—" Lockhart stammered as Voldemort's face started fading from the portrait's back. "You're not leaving, are you? You're going to team up with that Cohen Norton? No way—what about my classes?!"
Voldemort didn't answer. His soul had already floated off.
For some reason, even as a wraith, Voldemort couldn't see Cohen in the room.
But Cohen could see him.
Maybe that was the difference between a top-tier soul purified by the Philosopher's Stone and a lowlife soul split into six Horcruxes…
Looked like Voldemort was heading for Gryffindor Tower to find Cohen. *Now* he wanted to cozy up to his old buddy?
Cohen liked him better when he was all rebellious and untamed.