CH 87: Scream, Silent, Motionless
The corridor on the fourth floor was silent. Harry's footsteps echoed as he traversed its length.
There were few vacant classrooms along the corridor, and a pungent odor permeated the air. Harry followed the scent until he reached the classroom where Lu Wei was being held.
Observing the tightly locked door and the footprints in the dusty floor beneath it, he deduced that Quirrell had already entered.
Upon opening the door, Harry was immediately assaulted by the stench of animal waste. Despite the barrenness of the classroom, Harry's eyes were drawn to a small clump of animal hair at his feet.
In that moment, understanding dawned upon him.
Although Quirrell had found a solution regarding Fluffy,
Due to Hagrid's timely report to Dumbledore, the Headmaster had altered his plans.
This left Quirrell with no opportunity to exploit the situation.
In his desperation, Quirrell had resorted to reporting the incident to the Ministry of Magic and sought to leverage it to restrain Uncle Felix and Dumbledore.
As for the revised strategy—whether it involved employing a more formidable creature to guard the location or implementing alternative measures—Harry remained unaware.
Lost in thought, he turned his attention to the trap door, which stood ajar. Without hesitation, Harry descended into the darkness below.
The frigid, damp air rushed past him as he plummeted, eventually landing with a splash onto an unknown, cushioning substance.
Summoning his resolve, he snapped his fingers.
"Fluorescent flash—"
A piercing scream shattered the silence, assaulting his senses and disrupting his incantation.
Despite the fleeting glimpse afforded by the faint light, Harry discerned the source of the scream.
"A group of mandrakes!"
Clutching his ears, Harry felt as though his skull might rupture from the cacophony. Advancing cautiously, he struggled to make progress amidst the unbearable noise.
"I am a wizard... I must cast..."
Yet, his hands remained pressed firmly against his ears, preventing him from concentrating.
Reaching for a solution, Harry tentatively traced his fingers through the air.
"The flames are blazing—"
In an instant, fierce flames erupted on either side of the tunnel. Undeterred, Harry pressed onward.
"Fire clears the way—"
The inferno surged forth like dragons, consuming the tunnel ahead. Gradually, the cries of the mandrakes subsided until only silence remained, broken only by Harry's heavy breaths.
After a moment of respite, Harry retrieved a vial of energy potion from his pocket and quenched his thirst before proceeding to the next chamber.
Mandrakes... their cries could prove lethal.
Shivers ran down Harry's spine as he contemplated the horrors that lay ahead.
Summoning his courage, he pushed open the door.
Crunch—
The sound of approaching footsteps filled the air, and before Harry could react, a shadow lunged towards him.
With a deafening thud, a bloodied blade narrowly missed his ear, embedding itself in the wall.
"So close..."
Retreating hastily, Harry surveyed the room, relieved to find that his assailants had not pursued him.
Taking stock of his surroundings, he beheld a menagerie of grotesque creatures: nurses draped in blood-stained bandages, spiders fused with toy heads, and a towering butcher clad in a gore-splattered apron, wielding a massive sword. His visage concealed by a monstrous iron mask, the butcher exuded an aura of menace.
Amongst them stood broken stone statues resembling chess pieces, their gray limbs evidence of a malevolent force.
"A shape-shifter's handiwork..."
"Were these the remnants of Quirrell's assault?!"
Harry's expression darkened. He doubted his ability to confront Quirrell head-on, especially considering the possibility that the blood stains adorning these creatures were not merely cosmetic but borne of violence.
However, a peculiar realization dawned upon him.
Since his departure from the room, the creatures had remained motionless.
Puzzled, Harry seized a charred mandrake corpse nearby and hurled it into the chamber.
Bang—
Suddenly, the surrounding monsters launched a brazen attack.
However, their onslaught wasn't solely directed at the mandrake's corpse.
Some of the attacks struck the previously subdued monsters.
"A sound?!"
Harry glanced back at the Mandrake tunnel, a vague idea forming in his mind.
Contemplating his next move, Harry summoned a silent, ethereal hand that extended into the chamber of monsters.
Yet, the creatures remained oblivious to the presence of the ghostly blue hand.
With a snap—
He delivered a swift blow to the head of a nearby monster.
Instantly, two knives, three forks, and two razor-sharp claws lunged at him!
Indeed.
With this realization, Harry manipulated the spectral hand, luring the monsters into a corner. They became agitated and clustered together, leaving a clear path for Harry to proceed unnoticed.
Moving swiftly and silently, Harry reached the next door.
"The mandrake's cries correspond to the creature here..."
"So, does this creature correspond to the mechanism behind the next door?!"
Contemplating this, Harry cautiously opened the door.
Beyond the third door lay an expansive, empty classroom. Standing before him was a diminutive figure with his back turned, adorned in a bespoke tuxedo, resembling...
? !
"Professor Flitwick?!" Harry attempted to call out, swiftly shutting the door behind him.
Was this some form of enchantment...?
"Professor Flitwick," Harry tried again, brandishing his wand at the figure.
In response, the figure turned around.
Approaching cautiously, Harry—
Snap—
Professor Flitwick's hand unleashed a spell in an instant.
Reacting swiftly, Harry dodged, narrowly avoiding the explosion that rent the floor asunder.
An incredibly potent blasting curse!
Swiftly aiming his wand at "Flitwick", Harry prepared for a counterattack, only to find the figure turning around once more, devoid of any hostile intent.
In that moment, Harry recalled a game...
A game mirroring the traits of the creatures in the preceding chamber.
One, two, three, wooden man.
"Who devised this level?!" Harry seethed inwardly. Just as he attempted to rise, he saw Flitwick turning around once more.
Harry's half-crouched stance froze momentarily, hesitant to make any sudden movements.
As anticipated, "Professor Flitwick" gradually completed a full turn after surveying the room.
With a quick exhale, Harry stood upright, finding the prolonged half-crouch quite taxing.
In the next instant, Flitwick turned around again without warning—