In the dead of night, just past eleven, Amosta hurriedly left Dumbledore's office after their meeting. His cheeks felt a bit stiff from the long smile he had maintained; even though Dumbledore was no longer in sight, his expression still resembled a smile. There was no choice; one has to make a living, and putting on a friendly face isn’t out of place.

Although they had talked for over three hours, he still didn’t understand the purpose of Dumbledore's summons that evening. Recalling the entire conversation, Amosta realized that Dumbledore hadn’t given him a chance to present any plans but had instead led his thoughts on a meandering journey, like long-separated old friends engaged in drunken banter. The only takeaway was the half-bottle of whiskey that Dumbledore had generously gifted him.

This felt very unreasonable; the trust Dumbledore showed was completely at odds with his cautious personality. The corridor was empty, and the figures in the portraits on either side snuggled under their torches, sleeping soundly. It was the Christmas holiday, and even the diligent castle caretaker, Filch, had left the school to visit old friends.

The cold wind continued to blow through the castle from the window openings, but the snow had stopped falling. Amid the thick, piled clouds, the shadow of the moon could be faintly seen struggling to break free from its restraints. Amosta stood in front of a window at the corner of the stairs, gazing curiously into the distance. On this starless night, the Forbidden Forest was a dark, indistinct mass, and the flickering light from Hagrid's hut was almost the only illumination under the deep night sky.

"I'm really glad you walked out of Dumbledore's office alive, Amosta. I was even considering how to hold your funeral," Snape sneered, now dressed in a mauve nightgown, his body pressed against the corner wall, staring at the whiskey bottle in Amosta's hand. "Could it be that Dumbledore's skills in Legilimency have deteriorated so much that he now has to rely on Veritaserum to extract the sins you've committed over the years?"

"Your speaking style is still as sharp as ever, Professor," Amosta replied with a smile, turning his head to look at Snape's shadow. "Dumbledore didn’t use Veritaserum on me, but it seems he has already figured out what he wanted to know."

……

A beam of moonlight, having traversed thousands of mountains and rivers, filtered through the window grilles, forming several parallel rectangular patches of light on the floor of the hospital ward.

“Flickering glow.”

Confirming that Madam Pomfrey had returned to her small room to sleep, Hermione quietly opened her eyes, wriggling into her blankets, and pulled out a copy of "Common Magical Maladies and Injuries" from under her pillow. This was a book she had asked Harry to borrow from the library for her.

Though Madam Pomfrey had assured her that the hair on her face would fade cleanly in just a few weeks, Hermione hoped to find a way to shorten this time if possible; otherwise, she had no idea how to explain to those who would likely come to visit her why beautiful whiskers were growing on her cheeks.

Perhaps influenced by the animal instincts following a failed transformation, Hermione crawled like a real cat, her pale hands unconsciously forming claws resting on the pages, while a long cat tail quietly slipped out from under the tightly tucked blankets, dangling lazily over the edge of the bed.

Suddenly, footsteps outside the ward made Hermione's ears perk up, and after quickly ruling out that it was Harry, Ron, or Madam Pomfrey coming to visit her, her fur stood on end, and her expression turned to one of terror.

Could it be that she had encountered the culprit behind the Chamber of Secrets attack?!

She hurriedly extinguished the light from her wand, lay back down on her bed, her hand tightly gripping her wand beneath the covers.

“Very few things that happen in this school can escape Dumbledore's notice, Professor. Are you sure he really knows nothing?”

“You could call him hypocritical, but he wouldn’t allow anyone to use schemes to harm the students here.”

A cold, deep voice answered the previous question, a voice Hermione recognized well; it belonged to the Potions professor, Snape, who was the most prejudiced against Gryffindor students among all the faculty. Hermione was certain she had never heard the preceding voice before.

At least from the dialogue, one could understand that the newcomer was not some heir of Slytherin.

After a brief hesitation, Hermione’s furry head poked out from under the blankets. Thanks to the thick pads on her paws, she made no noise as she crept toward the door.

At Snape's signal, Amosta pulled back the curtain, stepping forward to closely examine the two unfortunate boys in the adjacent hospital beds who had been attacked.

“The gray-haired one is Colin Creevey, and the other is Justin Finch-Fletchley, both from Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, respectively, and both are of Muggle descent. You’re very sensitive to magic, Amosta; what are your thoughts?”

Amosta bent down between the two beds, his expression focused, with what seemed like two whirlpools slowly swirling in his light purple eyes. He glanced at Colin Creevey, who was raising his hand in a photo-taking gesture, then looked at the frightened Justin Finch-Fletchley, occasionally poking and tapping on their hardened skin, the crisp sounds echoing clearly in the quiet hospital ward.

“What did Dumbledore say?”

Amosta didn’t answer the question directly but sat on the bed, solemnly staring into Colin's eyes as he casually asked, “He believes this is a very profound dark magic that requires strong magic, surpassing the capabilities of young wizards. Moreover, he privately told Minerva that he personally doesn’t have the ability to directly lift such a powerful petrification curse.”

“Ha, about that last point, I have my reservations.”

Amosta pursed his lips and then pointed at Colin's eyes to express his insight, "It's not dark magic; it's a curse. An abnormal magic has frozen the flow of magic within these two unfortunate boys' bodies through the windows of their eyes, appearing externally as petrification."

“Minerva, Filius, and Pomona have all hinted to me…”

Snape looked a bit irritated, “I have indeed observed; currently, those kids in the house are dying to show off, and no one likes to hide their strength like you did back in the day. They lack that ability.”

"The bottle of Firewhisky the Headmaster has collected is indeed well-aged..."

Amosta stood up to stretch, but suddenly felt dizzy, nearly stumbling. He leaned against the bedpost, rubbing his temples, a flurry of thoughts racing through his mind. When he heard Snape's veiled complaint and recalled his own vigilant self from back then, Amosta smiled and said, "You're mistaken, Professor. I mentioned that their petrification is caused by an unusually natured magic, meaning that this magic doesn’t quite resemble that of a wizard, but more like... let’s say, like the magic flowing in the blood of a fire dragon and its nerves, quite different from a wizard's style."

Hiding behind the door, Hermione's yellow eyes widened in excitement as she clenched her… claws.

Amosta glanced amusedly at the ward across from him; in his view, the hidden wizard’s magic was as conspicuous as the moon rising in the darkness.

“So, it’s not just a ridiculous rumor that Salazar Slytherin left a monster in the Chamber?”

Snape's voice returned to its coldness. The greatest of the four founders had always been the pride of the wizards graduating from this academy, but at this moment, Snape’s anger toward the founder outweighed his respect.

“From the current situation, this possibility is the greatest.”

Thinking of the dark wizards in the underground world who coveted Slytherin's treasures, Amosta found it somewhat amusing; they probably wouldn’t expect that what Slytherin painstakingly left in the Chamber was merely a magical creature.

However, his task was to retrieve whatever was in the Chamber and hand it over to Cacus Fleury; as for what lay in the Chamber, it was none of his concern.

Having confirmed that he didn’t have the ability to immediately lift the curse, Amosta couldn’t gain any more insight from the petrified Colin and Justin. He gently draped the curtain back over them, his tone quite indifferent, “Actually, I’m more curious about why the attacker, who clearly had the ability to kill them directly after petrifying them, didn’t do so. Was it just for the thrill of creating fear? That seems like something only a psychopath would do—”

“That question, not only are you and I curious about it, I think Miss Hermione Granger is equally curious!”

Oh no!

As Amosta and Snape prepared to leave, Snape suddenly drew his wand and swung it fiercely toward Hermione's ward. The startled Hermione let out a surprised scream, stumbling and tumbling out from behind the door, landing right at Amosta's feet after rolling twice.

“Oh my—”

In the silent stillness, Amosta quietly opened his mouth, glancing between the mocking Snape and the almost curled-up little wizard at his feet.

“When did the magical world get catgirls?!”

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