"I know everyone's spirits are low… but children, I still advise you to pull yourselves together and continue attending classes."
Snape's speech had taken place three days before the Christmas holidays—which meant that after being struck by that thunderbolt of terrible news, the students still had to grit their teeth and endure two more days of lessons before facing that unprecedentedly frightening Christmas break.
Fear spread at an unprecedented pace. To the students—especially the Muggle-borns—Hogwarts now felt like a man-eating monster lying in wait. The corridors that were once filled with chatter had been taken over by the heavy sound of footsteps. No one wanted to linger in the hallways for even a second, afraid that in that single moment they might be attacked by the so-called will of the castle—at least so far, no cases of petrification had occurred inside classrooms or common rooms.
At first, a few Slytherins had loudly mocked Muggle-born students in the corridors. But after they were surrounded by a group of red-eyed students outside the Slytherin common room for half a day, no one dared to provoke trouble at such a sensitive moment anymore.
"No matter what the future holds, the knowledge you've learned won't vanish from your minds. You are, after all, members of magical society. What will ultimately help you achieve happiness is the wand in your hand and what's inside your head—not some so-called certificate or qualification…"
In the Transfiguration classroom, Professor McGonagall helplessly stopped writing on the blackboard and tried to comfort the roomful of dejected, distracted students.
"But Professor, what's the point of that?" a Gryffindor student asked boldly, as Gryffindors always did, even when facing their own Head of House. "We're about to be driven out, aren't we? We won't be able to study, and we won't even be allowed to use magic at home… So what use is this little bit of knowledge now?"
Professor McGonagall glanced at him. He was a Muggle-born Gryffindor boy, biting down hard on his lower lip, every muscle in his face taut as he tried to hide the tremor in his voice and the redness creeping into his eyes.
"What are you talking about?" she said, walking over and bending down, deliberately raising her voice in mock surprise. "Are you really planning to give up just like that?"
"Just because some vague, intangible thing might be targeting you, you're going to abandon knowledge, friends, magic, and Quidditch, and obediently go home? Oh, Merlin above—if you were usually this obedient, our House point hourglasses would probably be overflowing…"
At last, a few scattered laughs broke the oppressive atmosphere in the classroom.
"We professors haven't given up yet!"
Professor McGonagall stepped back onto the platform, her voice calm but firm. "Doesn't petrification only happen in the corridors? Then we'll move classes into the common rooms! Aren't our common rooms in towers? Then we'll issue everyone a broomstick—I'll personally authorize you to fly out the windows every day!"
"If people can also be petrified in the common rooms and dormitories, then we'll go outdoors! And if that so-called will still refuses to let go, then we'll abandon this ancient castle altogether and find somewhere else to hold lessons!"
"A building is the least important part of a school, no matter how old or mysterious it is. The true Hogwarts is not a castle—it is you, it is us professors, it is the house-elves working in the kitchens, and it is the traditions and spirit passed down for a thousand years. And all of these things share one thing in common: they should never be ruled by some vague, intangible will!"
"I will not abandon a single one of you—unless you decide to abandon yourselves."
…
"Look."
In the greenhouse, Professor Sprout, wearing her patch-covered robes, gestured toward a lush green nursery behind her. "These are Mandrake seedlings. We're about to cover them in class anyway, so starting a little early won't hurt. Who can tell me what properties Mandrakes have?"
"Mandrake roots are a powerful restorative, capable of reversing Transfiguration as well as other spells and curses," a student answered quietly, raising a hand.
"Very good."
Professor Sprout smiled encouragingly. "Mandrakes are an important ingredient in most antidotes. But they're also dangerous. Who can tell me why?"
"Hearing a Mandrake's cry can be fatal."
"Absolutely correct!"
Professor Sprout gave a thumbs-up, then lifted a potted plant so everyone could clearly see the Mandrake seedling. "Look—just an ordinary herb like this, worth about three Sickles on the market… yet it can both lift curses and easily take the life of a careless person."
"Compared to it, that thing petrifying students is hardly worth mentioning. In terms of lethality, a Mandrake's cry is far more dangerous than that curse—and the petrification curse itself can be easily cured with a potion brewed from Mandrakes…"
"Huh?"
The students were stunned. According to Professor Sprout, that terrifying will of the castle didn't even measure up to a three-Sickle herb?
"The world of magic is like this—marvelous, dangerous, yet endlessly fascinating. There are countless things more wondrous and more deadly than Mandrakes…"
Her gentle voice grew deep and resonant. "It was in such an environment, facing innumerable perilous plants and magical creatures, that witches and wizards summarized magic from nature, constantly explored and learned, and carved out a haven of their own with mind and wand—gradually giving rise to the brilliant civilization we have today. Countless bizarre and deadly things were ultimately conquered by magic and the wand."
"And now, someone tells you that a single petrification curse within a castle can deprive all Muggle-born young witches and wizards in Britain of the right to learn, grow, and improve. Do you believe that?"
She smiled as she watched the dull light in the students' eyes slowly return. "It's not worthy."
…
"See? Giving awareness to an inanimate object is really this simple."
A suit of animated armor was strolling among the Ravenclaw students, its visor opening and closing like a mouth as it delivered a hilarious stand-up routine, drawing laughter even from students who had been utterly despondent just moments ago.
Professor Flitwick tapped it lightly with his wand, making the armor perform all sorts of movements. "You see—like this. As the one who granted it will, I have absolute control over it. And if I decide to make it stop…"
He flicked his wand gracefully, and the armor immediately froze, reverting to a lifeless object. "Just like that."
"And that so-called will of the castle is essentially the same—a mind created by witches and wizards."
"It should serve the witches and wizards within it, and it has no right to deprive anyone of the opportunity to learn—let alone harm others."
"If it does so, then that means it has malfunctioned…"
"And should be shut down and repaired."
…
Professor Snape sat in the Head of House office, with no students in need of comfort or encouragement around him.
After all, anyone admitted to Slytherin was at least a half-blood—there was no need to worry about being attacked by the Basilisk…
Knock knock knock!
"Professor Snape, may I come in? I have something very important to discuss with you!"
(End of Chapter)