With Hermione resting in the infirmary bed, back in her original form, we waited in tense silence for Harry and Ron to arrive. The room was bathed in a soft light filtering through the high arched windows, casting long shadows over the white curtains that hung beside each bed. The air smelled of disinfectant potions and dried flowers—a comforting yet melancholic mix.
I must admit, mocking a woman in such a delicate state was not my best decision. It took many purrs and pitiful looks to get Hermione to forgive me. The good thing about being adorable is that it sometimes works.
The silence was broken by the creak of the oak door opening. The dynamic duo entered, carrying a worn black leather notebook that seemed oddly familiar, though I couldn't quite recall why.
"Oh, brave heroes! Did you manage to rescue the princess?" I said theatrically, stretching lazily over the blankets.
"Cale, stop joking!" Ron grumbled, visibly irritated. "Well, what did you find out?"
Hermione was direct, with that determined gleam in her eyes:
"Let me see that notebook."
She leafed through it attentively. The soft rustle of the old pages was the only sound. What she said next made me smile with self-satisfaction. I had predicted this outcome, of course. Perhaps I should teach Divination classes on Friday afternoons, after tea.
"It says... Tom Riddle," she announced, looking up.
"Tom Riddle?" Ron frowned. "Oh, right! I saw his name on a trophy when I had to clean out the awards cabinet. I puked slugs right on it. Unforgettable."
"What was the trophy for?" Harry asked.
"Special services to the school. Fifty years ago."
"Fifty years?" Hermione raised her head. "Draco mentioned the last time the Chamber of Secrets was opened was fifty years ago. This diary might contain crucial information."
"Good deduction, Watson," I chimed in with a grin.
"Or it was left behind intentionally for someone to find," Hermione replied, frowning.
"Could be," I said, stretching my paws. "But there's a bigger problem: there's nothing written in it."
The atmosphere in the infirmary shifted. The mystery of the diary was as thick as the fog that formed over the grounds at night.
The next morning, the first rays of sun slipped through the curtains, painting the room in golden tones. Hermione groaned, her voice sleepy and irritable.
"Cale, stop sleeping on my face! Your fur's bothering me, and I can't sleep."
"It's not my fault you wrap yourself like a cocoon in the blankets," I replied in an offended tone. "I'm a cat, but I like to sleep warm. Where are my basic rights?"
Hermione sighed just as Harry burst into the room, hair tousled and urgency on his face.
"I know who did it!"
"We'll continue this conversation in the common room," I said, jumping from the bed.
"It was Hagrid," Harry blurted out.
"Hagrid?" Hermione blinked in disbelief.
"Tom Riddle mentioned him. To me, the guy's just a gossiping blowhard," Ron added.
"Hagrid is our friend," Hermione said seriously. "We should talk to him."
"Oh, sure. I'm sure the first thing he'll say is, 'Seen anything hairy and sinister lately?'" I commented sarcastically.
"Hairy and sinister?" I huffed. "I hope you're not talking about me."
"No," the three of them said in unison.
A nauseating smell wafted into the air. My nose crinkled.
"What is that infernal stench?"
"Slug repellent," Hermione answered. "It's for the mandrakes. We need them to mature to reve— Oh, my God, Harry!"
A student ran in, panting.
"Harry, quick!"
When we reached the dormitory, it looked like a hurricane had passed through. Tom Riddle's diary was gone.
Later, the infirmary fell silent again, but this time it was a heavy silence. Professor McGonagall led us toward a bed, her face drawn with worry. Hermione lay there, petrified, her face frozen in pure terror. The afternoon light bathed her lifeless figure, as if trying in vain to restore life.
"We found her near the library," the professor said, placing a mirror on the nightstand. "Perhaps this will help with the investigation."
Ron turned to me, his eyes blazing with fury.
"You were supposed to protect her! You're just a demon pretending to be a pet! This is your fault!"
I held his gaze, my voice calm as a starless night:
"I stepped out for a reason. I'm a cat, yes, but I won't do my business in front of Hermione. Also, my contract states I'll help solve the mystery, not be a babysitter. Control your emotions, Weasley, or you'll lose more than your temper."
With that, I left the infirmary, leaving a trail of cold silence behind me.
Seeking a new refuge, I sat beside the entrance to the common room. Dusk was falling, and the hallways smelled of damp stone and pumpkin pie.
Then Ginny appeared, her eyes tired but her heart still warm.
"Meow," I purred with the sweetest tone I could manage.
"Lost, kitty?" she asked, smiling.
I let myself be scooped into her arms, purring with delight.
She carried me to her dorm and nestled me on a soft wool blanket. Tonight we dine on fish, I thought as I curled up. And for one night at least, we celebrate a small victory.
The mystery still loomed... but at least I had a new pillow.