Chapter 14: The Attacked Mrs. Norris

After leaving the office, Silven couldn’t help but glance back once.

He hadn’t expected things to be settled so easily—he’d originally thought the Gryffindor dorms were too small, hence the five students per room.

Good enough, Silven turned and headed toward the tower.

The corridor was empty, eerily silent, save for the echo of his footsteps reverberating between floors.

At some point, a gaunt cat appeared directly in his path.

The cat was terribly thin, its fur dull gray, eyes bulging like two lightbulbs.

Wait—a cat?

Silven halted.

He’d felt for a while that he’d forgotten something, and now he remembered.

Where was Tang Mu?

He’d dropped Tang Mu on the ground before Sorting, and hadn’t seen him since.

But moments later, Silven stopped thinking about it and kept walking calmly forward.

If it was Tang Mu, the other students’ pets ought to be the ones worrying—he was sure that cat could thrive even in the Forbidden Forest.

Silven wanted to leave, but some people weren’t willing.

The thin cat followed him, occasionally howling. Minutes later, a similarly emaciated figure leapt out from the end of the corridor.

“Ah, students out of bed…”

“I just came from Professor McGonagall’s office,” Silven interrupted. “If you don’t believe me, go ask now. And by the way, your cat can’t tell time—can’t you either? You’ve got ten minutes before curfew!”

The words he’d been about to say choked in his throat; Filch’s face turned green.

But Silven didn’t care—he stepped around him and kept walking.

“Don’t let me catch you…” came the threatening voice behind him.

Silven didn’t stop: “Thanks for the warning.”

…

The new dorm was in the first-year wing, spotless and dust-free.

Though exhausted from a full day on the train, Silven decided to write his grandfather a letter first, updating him on his current situation.

The letter was short, mainly covering the Sorting and his approval for a single dorm room to continue wand-making.

At the end, he asked his grandfather to pass along greetings to his parents and relay these updates.

They were both abroad, and Silven wasn’t sure if the school owls could fly that far across the sea, so he’d send it via the Owl Post.

After finishing this, Silven had planned to complete the half-finished wand he had on hand, but he was far too tired—dizzy and sluggish—and simply collapsed onto the nearest bed and fell asleep.

The next day.

Silven woke early, delivered last night’s letter at the owlery, then had breakfast in the Great Hall.

Hermione and Neville were there; Hermione seemed normal, just as she had yesterday, but Neville was odd—he spoke softly when greeting him, then spent the entire meal turning his head away, deliberately avoiding looking at Silven.

Even Hermione noticed something was wrong.

“What’s wrong?” she couldn’t help asking.

“N-nothing,” Neville shook his head, then hesitated for minutes before finally looking at Silven, summoning courage to ask: “Do you… look down on us?”

The question felt like a thousand pounds—he gasped for breath after speaking, yet his expression was resolute, eyes red, neck stiff, staring straight at Silven.

“What makes you say that?”

“We heard—you applied for a single room yesterday. Isn’t that because you don’t want to live with us?”

“You… wait, so my roommate is you? Who else?”

“Harry, Ron, Seamus…” Neville listed three names.

“Oh, you guys.” Silven raised an eyebrow.

“You didn’t know?” Neville blinked.

“Nope,” Silven spread butter on his bread. “I never even entered the dorm—I just glanced at the door and went straight to Professor McGonagall. How would I know who my roommates were?”

“Why did you switch dorms?”

“Hmm, hard to explain in a sentence or two.” Silven thought. “If you really want to know, come to my room tonight at seven—you’ll understand then.”

“Alright, we’ll come.”

It wasn’t Neville who spoke—it was Harry and Ron behind him, who’d just arrived for breakfast and overheard Silven.

From their expressions, they were also displeased with Silven’s sudden dorm switch—especially Ron, who muttered a long string to Harry about “pure-bloods being like this…” and similar things.

Silven didn’t care.

Hermione tried to ease the tension, shifting topics: “Oh, uh, how did you manage the stairs?”

“The easiest way is to follow the older students,” Silven said. “Or you can ask a ghost for help—Nearly Headless Nick or the Fat Friar.”

Interestingly, that day in every class, Neville, Harry, Ron, and Seamus acted as if they’d agreed—none of them spoke to Silven.

Harry had considered it, but before he could say anything, Ron pulled him away.

Fine.

Silven just found it amusing.

It continued like this until nightfall, after they finished observing the stars with telescopes and returned together from the Astronomy Tower to the common room.

As they passed through the entrance, Fred and George were loudly talking, their faces bright with excitement—something good had happened.

“Hey, did you hear?”

Spotting the first-years, one Weasley immediately sidled over, laughing: “Last night, Mrs. Norris was attacked—ha!”

“Who?” Harry blinked, confused.

“Mrs. Norris.”

“Who’s that?”

“The cat Filch keeps,” Ron reminded him.

“Oh.” Harry finally remembered.

He recalled meeting Filch on the fourth floor that morning.

But he hadn’t seen the cat.

“What happened to the cat?” someone asked eagerly. “Tell us!”

Mrs. Norris often patrolled the corridors with Filch, hunting rule-breakers—and she’d caught many.

In the echoing curses of the detention room, her name came second only to Filch’s; many wanted her gone.

But they dared not.

Because in a way, Filch represented the school.

No one expected a true hero to emerge this year.

Amazing!

“Don’t know,” one Weasley said—Silven recognized his wand… it was Fred.

“But it wasn’t a person,” George added. “We snuck into the hospital wing—Mrs. Norris had one leg broken, claw marks all over her body, and patches of fur missing.”

“Given these injuries, the hero who rid us of her must’ve been another… cat? Probably. But definitely not a student.”

No one expected such an answer—the once-boisterous common room fell silent for a moment.

But the silence didn’t last.

“Come on, regardless, today’s worth celebrating!” Fred raised a hand.

George followed: “To the hero of Hogwarts!”

“I wish it had done the same to Filch!”

Fred and George stepped aside, revealing the treats they’d been hiding—cookies, cakes, and butterbeer.

“Oh, where’d you get these?” Ron’s eyes lit up.

“The school kitchen.”

“I meant the butterbeer.”

“Ah… secret,” George winked.

The crowd erupted in celebration; Silven was handed a bottle of butterbeer, but he had no appetite to drink.

Mrs. Norris had been attacked—the culprit was likely another cat.

That brutal style… somehow, it felt familiar.

(End of Chapter)