The Prisoners of Hogwarts

Chapter 207 The Attack Resumes

Chapter 207 The Attack Resumes

The Great Hall at breakfast time was still bustling with activity, warm and bright. Golden plates held bacon...

Fried eggs and sausages filled the air, along with the sweet aroma of toasted bread and pumpkin juice. On the ceiling, magical clouds, mirroring the hazy sky outside, moved slowly, letting in a few slivers of light.

Harry sat at the Gryffindor table, absentmindedly poking at the sausages on his plate. Not far away, Hermione was cramming in, endlessly repeating the complex ingredient lists from *Common Potions*, making a final push for her upcoming Potions test. Ron, meanwhile, stuffed food into his mouth while mumbling a prayer that Snape would "go easy on him" today, though they both knew how slim that hope was.

At the teachers' table, Professor McGonagall sipped a cup of black tea, her gaze habitually sweeping over the bustling students below. Watching the children maintain their usual noise and energy, her tense nerves relaxed slightly for a moment.

This peaceful daily life seemed so fragile and precious after Mrs. Lorris was attacked.

She sincerely hopes that the worst is over.

Unfortunately, her wish was shattered in the next second.

A figure stumbled and rushed in from outside the auditorium doors.

It was a Slytherin boy, his face ashen, his chest heaving violently, his robes covered in suspicious dust, as if he had just rolled on the ground. He completely ignored the students in the Great Hall, and like a sharp arrow, he stumbled through the crowd towards Professor McGonagall on the faculty stand.

"Professor! Professor McGonagall!" The boy's voice was shrill and distorted with extreme fear, almost piercing the noisy background of the auditorium.

Everyone in the auditorium stopped what they were doing and turned their gazes toward them.

Professor McGonagall slammed down her teacup, the porcelain cup clattering against the tray with a sharp, crisp sound.

She stood up, leaned forward, and her sharp gaze instantly locked onto the disheveled student in front of her.

"Calm down, child!" Her voice carried its usual sternness, but a closer listen revealed a tension within it. "What happened?"

"It's—it's an attack! It's happened again!" The boy gasped for breath, his fingers clenching tightly against his chest as if his heart would leap out of his chest. "In—in the basement hallway! Justin Finley! He—he's lying on the floor—motionless! Like—like a statue! And on the wall—there's blood—blood writing!" He could barely utter the word "blood writing," a huge wave of terror choking him.

The word "blood" was like a cold, malevolent curse, instantly freezing the air in a small area around the teachers' bench.

Professor McGonagall swayed almost imperceptibly, grabbing the edge of the table to steady herself. The color drained from her face, leaving it as pale as the boy who had brought the news.

Justin Finley, a Hufflepuff, Muggle-born boy —

How could this be?!

Lin Qi clearly stated that he had the situation under control!

Without the slightest hesitation, and with no time to think further, Professor McGonagall strode out from behind her seat.

"lead the way!"

She gave the boy a succinct command, and then her figure quickly disappeared outside the Great Hall door, following the Slytherin boy.

The entire process took less than a minute, yet it was like a boulder thrown into a seemingly calm lake, creating ripples that spread far and wide.

At first, only the students near the teachers' seats heard the entire conversation. Soon, the information was passed around in whispers, and the students buzzed like a swarm of bees, their discussions filling the auditorium.

"What happened? Why did Professor McGonagall leave?"

"I think I heard—an attack?"

"What! Who's been attacked?"

"It was someone from Slytherin who came to report—"

Uneasy whispers gradually coalesced into an undercurrent of panic. Hermione slammed the book on the table shut, her brow furrowed.

Ron forgot to chew and stared blankly at the doorway; Harry felt a faint but clear stinging pain from the scar on his forehead, which made his stomach churn, and an ominous premonition wrapped around his heart like cold vines.

In the basement corridor, Snape was already there when Professor McGonagall arrived with a gust of cold wind.

Clearly, the Slytherin students informed their beloved Headmaster first.

He stood like a silhouette blending into the shadows, his back to the entrance, at the corner of the corridor, blocking the horrifying sight. Only when he heard footsteps did he turn around, his sallow, usually expressionless face now shrouded in an unyielding gloom and solemnity.

"Professor McGonagall," he greeted, then stepped aside to reveal the scene behind him.

Despite being mentally prepared, the scene before her still made Professor McGonagall's heart skip a beat.

Justin Finley of Hufflepuff, the boy brimming with curiosity about the magical world, lay supine on the cold stone floor in an extremely unnatural posture. His arms were stiffly pressed against his sides, his legs straight, and his whole body resembled a wooden stick frozen in time. His eyes were tightly closed, and his face was frozen in a look of utter horror. His skin was a terrifying grayish-white, as if all his blood and life force had been forcibly drained away by some evil force in an instant.

At this moment, he doesn't seem like a living person, but more like a rough, unfinished stone statue full of painful marks.

What's even more unsettling is what's on the wall not far from his body.

On that ancient stone wall, which originally bore only some signs of age, a line of hastily written, grotesque characters, seemingly penned with every ounce of malice, gleamed with a nauseating dark red sheen in the dim light. The color had partially dried and blackened, emitting a faint, rusty odor. The edges of the characters were rough and irregular, as if carved with a finger, or something coarser and more primitive, dipped in that ominous "ink": "Those who associate with the mud-blooded will meet the same end."

"He's still alive," Snape's voice broke the suffocating silence. "My initial examination reveals no obvious external injuries, and while his vital signs are weak, they are present. He's trapped in a very deep state of petrification or imprisonment. This isn't a petrification spell we usually see."

When Professor McGonagall heard that Justin was still alive, she felt her heart start beating again.

"Merlin, thank goodness—we can still make it!" She immediately pulled out her wand. "We must get him to Madam Pomfrey right away!"

"Wait." Snape's voice stopped her from waving her wand.

His sallow face was solemn as his gaze slowly swept over the blood-red words on the wall before finally settling on Professor McGonagall's face.

"The boy's condition is stable, and he's not in any immediate danger. So, someone else should inspect the scene before moving him."

"Who?"

Snape did not answer, but his somber gaze fell upon the shadows of the corridor behind Professor McGonagall.

Lynch's voice came from there almost simultaneously: "Me."