Harry Potter: Westeros's Plant Life

Lockhart didn't notice Harry and Neville hiding in the shadows at all. Harry remained in place, thinking about what those words might mean, until Lockhart's footsteps completely disappeared.

At this point, Neville tremblingly patted Harry's shoulder: "Can we... can we go in now?"

Harry nodded grimly, his eyes scanning the empty corridor one final time. "Yes, but we need to be quick and silent. One sound and we'll have Filch on us."

He pulled Neville and gently pushed open the Great Hall doors.

The Great Hall hadn't been cleaned up—the dueling platform was still in place, with some robe fragments and feathers scattered on the floor, probably left by students.

Perhaps Lockhart had asked the house-elves to handle the cleanup, and the Great Hall would probably be back to normal by tomorrow.

"Quick, look everywhere," Harry urged.

The two kept their heads down, looking around and tiptoeing around the Great Hall.

However, after searching for a long time without finding any useful clues, Neville returned to Harry's side somewhat dejected, whispering: "I've turned over everything on the floor and even checked under the platform... There's nothing here. Nothing at all."

Harry's jaw stiffened with frustration. "Maybe someone else found it first. A student, or perhaps a house-elf."

"What should we do then?" Neville's voice cracked, and Harry could see tears glistening in his eyes.

"We'll ask the professors tomorrow morning," Harry said helplessly. "Hopefully, whoever found it will have the sense to turn it in to McGonagall or Flitwick."

The mention of involving the professors drained what little color remained from Neville's face.

"If Gran finds out I lost my wand," He whispered, "She'll definitely be furious and scold me."

"There'll be a way," Harry patted Neville's shoulder.

With that, Harry led Neville out of the Great Hall and back to the common room.

The next day, Harry got up early. For some reason, while resting last night, he kept having an inexplicable feeling of heart palpitations. When he came to the common room, he still had dark circles under his eyes.

To his surprise, the common room was not empty. Hermione sat curled in the armchair by the fire with few people in the common room, no one was competing with her for the spot. A thick tome lay open in her lap, and her eyes moved rapidly across the pages with intense focus.

"Morning, Hermione," Harry mumbled, rubbing his eyes and stifling a yawn.

"Good morning, Harry," she replied without looking up, her fingers turning the pages with care. Her voice carried the slightly distracted tone of someone completely absorbed.

Harry was about to head toward the portrait hole, planning to make his way to the kitchens for an early breakfast, when something on the coffee table caught his attention. There, lying among Hermione's scattered parchments and ink bottles, was a familiar wand.

"That's..." Harry stepped closer, his heart beginning to race with a mixture of relief and confusion. "Hermione, where did you get this wand?"

Only then did she look up, following his gaze to the coffee table. "Oh, that," she said, closing her book with a soft thud. "I meant to tell you earlier, but you weren't up yet. This morning, when I went to the courtyard for my practice session, I encountered Luna Lovegood."

"The courtyard?" Harry's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "What were you doing there so early? The sun had barely risen."

"Practicing spells," Hermione replied concisely. "Anyway, that's not the important part. Luna said she found this wand in the Great Hall last night. She was returning it to the common room, hoping to find its owner."

Harry picked up the wand and examined it carefully—this was definitely Neville's.

"Neville's still sleeping," Harry said, a genuine smile appearing on his face. "I'll tell him when he wakes up. He'll be so relieved."

Hermione nodded and turned her attention back to her book.

Harry looked at the time on the wall.

The wall clock in the common room showed half past six, and Harry marveled at Hermione's dedication. She must have been up before dawn, went through the frost-covered grounds to practice her spells in the cold of the courtyard. Just the thought of the icy morning air made Harry pull his robes closer around his shoulders.

But what puzzled him even more was Luna's presence. What had the dreamy Ravenclaw been doing in the Great Hall and then the courtyard at such an early hour?

Luna was known for her midnight wanderings, but this seemed unusual even for her.

With Ron still snoring peacefully in the dormitory above and Hermione clearly intent on finishing her massive book, Harry decided to go to the Great Hall alone. The house-elves would have breakfast ready, and being alone might help clear his mind.

The castle corridors were eerily quiet in the early morning, with only the occasional portrait stirring in their frames. Harry made his way through the familiar passages, his breath visible in small puffs of vapor in the cold air.

As he reached the third-floor corridor, a sound froze him in his tracks—a low, hoarse voice that seemed to emanate from the walls.

"So hungry... so hungry... food..."

Harry's blood turned to ice. The voice was unmistakable—the same sinister, inhuman sound he had heard during the Halloween feast, the night Ray had been attacked. His hand instinctively moved to his wand, drawing it from his robes.

Although wands weren't allowed in the corridors, this was a special situation, and he couldn't worry about that now.

"Who's there?" Harry called out, his voice trembling slightly. "Show yourself!"

The corridor remained silent except for the sound of his own rapid breathing and the frantic beating of his heart. Then, cutting through the silence, the voice spoke again:

"Tear... attack... blood..."

Harry's mind raced as he realized the voice was coming from the direction of the courtyard—the same place where Ray had been found petrified, the same place where Hermione had been practicing her spells, and the same place where Luna had been wandering.

Without hesitation, Harry broke into a run as he sprinted through the corridors with urgency, even waking several portraits on the walls.

"Hey! Young man! What's all this racket so early in the morning?" called out a portrait of a medieval knight, his nightcap awry and his expression indignant.

Other portraits began to stir and mutter complaints, but Harry had no time for apologies.

As he rounded a sharp corner, Harry collided with a suit of armor, sending it crashing to the floor with a tremendous clang.

Pieces of steel scattered across the corridor, but Harry barely paused.

"Sorry!" he shouted over his shoulder, not slowing his frantic pace.

When Harry finally reached the first-floor corridor that led to the courtyard, he saw a small figure moving through the shadows. Even in the dim light, he recognized the platinum blonde hair and the distinctive, dreamy walk of Luna Lovegood.

But this was not the usual Luna—this Luna was running, her usually peaceful face twisted with what looked like fear or urgency. She swept past Harry like a ghost completely not noticing him.

"Luna!" Harry called out. "What happened? What's wrong?"

But Luna had already disappeared around the corner, leaving only the sound of her rapidly leaving footsteps.

Harry hesitated for only a moment before continuing his sprint toward the courtyard. Whatever had frightened Luna, whatever had caused that sinister voice, he knew he had to investigate.

Arriving at the courtyard, the morning wind mixed with cold air hit his face, and it was completely silent here.

In the morning light, a golden figure was particularly conspicuous—Lockhart was lying under a tree with ice-covered leaves, maintaining a posture with both arms spread wide.

Harry was immediately stunned.

Obviously, he had been petrified, exactly like Ray that day.

Except this time, it was a professor who had been attacked.

Harry quickly ran to Lockhart, discovering that Lockhart's expression was frozen in an extremely exaggerated state of terror, his eyes seeming ready to pop out, like a poor actor.

Kneeling beside the petrified Lockhart, Harry carefully placed his hand on his chest. The body was still warm, the robes still felt soft to the touch—this had happened recently, perhaps within the last hour.

The realization sent chills down Harry's spine.

"Merlin's beard," Harry gasped. "What happened to you?"

Rising to his feet, Harry began a careful search of the courtyard looking for any clue that might reveal the identity of the attacker as he must have not gone too far.

However, after circling the courtyard, he found nothing strange.

He took one last look at Lockhart's ridiculous petrified posture, then turned and sprinted toward the castle—he had to notify the professors!

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