26 the first attack

"Ciaran Frémont's heart raced with excitement as he uncovered Marvolo Gaunt's ring and the Resurrection Stone, two of the Three Hallows of Death!"

Ciaran Frémont was in high spirits. He had stumbled upon a location teeming with Force points—Gaunt's old house.

"If I acquire the ring and the magic stone, would that elevate me to a level 5 wizard?" Ciaran Frémont pondered silently. He decided against an immediate visit to Gaunt's old house. Post-holidays, he'd meticulously plan a trip. As he hadn't ventured to Little Hangleton before, direct Apparition wasn't viable. Besides, his Portkey skills were wanting.

Gaunt's old house, now vacant, had evidently severed ties with the Floo network.

Flying on a broom? Not preferable, given the distance. He'd rather head to London and catch a bus. Conveniently, he had ample free time during summer break.

Ciaran Frémont approached the auditorium.

"Professor Frémont," he encountered Harry, Ron, and Hermione. They seemed to be departing the Great Hall, destination unknown.

"What's happening?" Ciaran Frémont inquired.

Harry and Ron appeared melancholic, while Hermione responded promptly, "Professor, we've accepted Nearly Headless Nick's invitation for his death anniversary soirée."

Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost.

Harry and Ron exchanged wry smiles.

They already regretted their assent, especially upon glimpsing the bustling auditorium, adorned with massive pumpkin lanterns dimly aglow—courtesy of Hagrid's colossal pumpkins.

Rumour had it Dumbledore had arranged for a skeleton dance troupe to entertain guests. The thought dampened their spirits further.

"Oh, it's a ghost party?" Ciaran Frémont suddenly realized it was Halloween. He recalled an incident from the original timeline where Mrs. Norris, Filch's cat, was attacked. Would history repeat itself?

He'd subtly hinted at numerous magical mishaps during his summer stay at the Burrow, hoping Ginny would heed his warnings instead of merely laughing.

"Professor, have you ever attended a ghost party?" Harry's eyes sparked with interest. He gazed at Ciaran expectantly. "Isn't it splendid? Far more riveting than our living folks' Halloween banquet?"

He and Ron awaited Ciaran's verdict with bated breath.

Hermione, unable to conceal her curiosity, despite her disapproval of the ghostly affair, awaited Ciaran Frémont's response.

Ciaran Frémont blinked at them and remarked, "A ghost party is a truly remarkable experience."

"Is it enjoyable?"

"Well, it hinges on personal perspective," Ciaran Frémont smiled. "Wishing you a delightful time!"

As Ciaran disappeared into the auditorium, Harry and Ron exchanged glances. Ron dryly remarked, "Professor Frémont thinks it's enjoyable, right?"

"I suppose...?" Harry replied uncertainly.

"Let's not dally, or we'll be late!" Hermione urged. The trio cast one last glance towards the auditorium before heading to the underground classroom, the venue of the ghostly gathering.

Inside the auditorium, Ciaran settled into his seat. He observed a moment of silent tribute for Harry and his friends. Ghostly banquets were ill-suited for the living, providing no harm but little comfort either.

"Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets?" Ciaran Frémont mused quietly, scanning the room discreetly. The fiery manes of several Weasley heads stood out on the Gryffindor table. Ginny Weasley sported a radiant smile, seemingly carefree.

The plot might have deviated to some extent, yet remained uncertain. Ciaran Frémont averted his gaze, resolving not to leave the auditorium prematurely. Should a basilisk surface, he doubted his luck mirrored that of his predecessors, who averted disaster through sheer happenstance.

"Professor Frémont, Professor Trelawney, to us!" Professor Lockhart enthusiastically toasted, raising his wine glass. Professor Trelawney, adjacent, offered a faint smile, appearing reluctant to partake in the Halloween revelry.

Ciaran Frémont sipped his wine calmly, concealing the turmoil within. Outwardly serene, none could fathom his tumultuous thoughts.

"I must confess, I harbour no fondness for Halloween banquets," Professor Trelawney confided softly, gazing at Ciaran. "I foresee ominous tidings."

A pang stirred within Ciaran. "Ominous? Professor Trelawney, do you imply an unusual occurrence tonight?"

He pondered the petrification of Mrs. Norris in the original timeline. Would history mirror the past's sequence of events?

Professor Trelawney's enigmatic smile suggested her prophecy wasn't forthcoming; merely her usual cryptic musings.

Nevertheless, Ciaran resolved to remain until the event's conclusion.

The Halloween banquet unfolded with merriment—drinks flowed, and delectable fare abounded. Even the house-elves revelled, their efforts evident in the festive ambiance.

Alas, all good things must end. As attendees exited the auditorium, Ciaran observed the sudden hush that fell over the crowd. Sensing unease, professors swiftly evacuated the premises.

Ciaran Frémont sighed inwardly, vowing to avoid nocturnal excursions henceforth. Encountering a basilisk was no trifling matter.

Hurriedly, he ascended to the second floor.

"You! You've slain my cat! You'll pay—" Mr. Filch's hoarse voice reverberated.

"Argus!"

Dumbledore emerged, flanked by fellow professors, hastening towards the scene of the commotion.

Amidst two windows, scrawled upon the wall at waist height, ominous inscriptions loomed. Suspended by her tail from a torch holder, Mrs. Norris, Filch's cat, remained rigid, eyes wide in an unblinking stare.