The Fourth Victim

The lively atmosphere continued until three in the afternoon.

The Weasley family decided to play a snowball fight.

On the way to the courtyard, Fred sighed, "Dumbledore's singing is absolutely terrible—on par with your Sorting Hat, Harry."

"Hey! I'm still better than Albus, aren't I?" the Sorting Hat, now perched on George's head, retorted indignantly.

"About the same," George quipped.

"I think the Headmaster is better," Fred concluded, "because he's the Headmaster, and you're just a hat."

The brothers debated back and forth before finally agreeing on one thing:

"Little Ronnie sings the worst."

"What do you think, Ginny?"

The youngest Weasley forced a smile and muttered a few words of agreement.

Harry instinctively reached out to touch Ginny's forehead. "You're not feeling well? Do you need to see Madam Pomfrey?"

His fingertips felt the warmth of her skin—normal to the touch, without the burning sensation of the Amortentia spell taking effect.

Ginny's face flushed red, and her voice gained some energy. "No, I've just been having nightmares lately and not sleeping well."

"Harry's amazing!" Fred exclaimed. "Just one sentence, and Ginny's all better."

Ginny glared at him.

"Is it magic, or is it something else…?" George drawled, clearly hinting at something but leaving it unsaid.

Ginny turned an even deeper shade of red.

Her spirits revived, and with Percy and Ron handling logistics—casting spells and making snowballs—Ginny single-handedly overwhelmed her brothers in the snowball fight.

It wasn't until dinnertime that they returned to the common room, cold and wet, to change into dry clothes.

The boys waited in the common room while Ginny, being a girl—even at eleven years old—needed more time to get ready.

"Hermione's never taken this long before," Ron complained while playing wizard chess with Fred. "It's been nearly twenty minutes!"

"That's because Hermione and I are usually waiting for you," Harry remarked casually.

Ron moved a knight forward and retorted, "I've gotten up early before!"

"Sure," Harry replied flatly. "I'm so impressed that you consider seven-thirty early."

The others, except Percy, chimed in unison: "Isn't it?"

Percy scowled. "Of course not. That's just a normal time to wake up. Miss Granger is up by six to study, and as for Harry, he's out exercising even earlier. Every day at five-thirty, when I get up, I see him returning from outside."

"You're not normal," George declared. "You're like Bill, aiming for twelve 'O's. We're the normal ones."

"Normal people think seven-thirty is early!" Fred rallied for the "late riser faction."

By the time their chess game ended, Ginny finally emerged from the dormitory. The afternoon's snowball fight had clearly taken a toll on her. Her face was pale, drained of all color, and her energy was flagging.

She looked dazed, as if caught in the disorienting fog of waking up from an afternoon nap that lasted too long.

"Ginny?" Percy asked hesitantly. "Should we go to Madam Pomfrey?"

Ginny weakly shook her head. "No need. I think I just got too cold earlier. I'll be fine after some sleep."

"I think you should listen to your brother this time," Fred said firmly.

Unable to argue, Ginny agreed to stop by the hospital wing since it was on their way.

As they walked out of the tower, laughing and chatting, Harry suddenly stopped in his tracks. "Wait!"

"What's wrong?" Percy asked, immediately noticing Harry's serious expression and adjusting his tone accordingly.

Harry took a deep breath, removed the Sorting Hat from George's head, and drew the Sword of Gryffindor. "Stay here. Something's happened up ahead."

Ahead, the corridor was eerily similar to the night of the Halloween feast.

The air felt empty, devoid of the usual lingering traces of people passing through. Even the scents had faded too quickly to be natural.

The Weasley brothers grew uneasy, while Ginny appeared confused, her expression blank.

Harry glanced at her face, memorized her reaction, and then closed his eyes. Sword in hand, he moved cautiously forward, sticking to the shadows and advancing inch by inch.

Crossing the threshold of magical influence, he detected only a faint life force—nothing more.

Harry slowly opened his eyes.

The corridor was in chaos.

Portraits had been violently ripped apart. The painted figures inside were frozen mid-panic, immobilized by a spell.

The rooster statues were also destroyed, their pieces scattered as if they had valiantly fought back against an intruder before being reduced to scrap metal.

At the center of the hallway lay a petrified figure, frozen mid-turn as they reached for their wand. It was the Ravenclaw girl who had been singing with them at lunch.

"Harry, do you need help?" Percy called from behind, pressing himself against the wall with his wand at the ready.

"No sign of the basilisk," Harry replied. "You can come over."

Percy was the first to approach. His expression hardened as he saw the petrified girl. "I'll notify the professors."

"No," Harry said, shaking his head. "It's too dangerous."

Expecto Patronum!

A silver lion burst from Harry's wand. He instructed it, "Go to Dumbledore. Tell him there's been another attack near the tower, and a student has been petrified."

Percy's eyes gleamed with admiration. "The Patronus Charm…"

Harry carefully examined the girl. Following her frozen gaze, he noticed a shattered mirror on the floor. Picking up the pieces, he saw a fragmented reflection of a human figure, distorted and unrecognizable.

"Looks like the mirror saved her," Percy remarked.

Harry said nothing, setting the mirror aside and continuing his examination.

Her magic was depleted, her life force faint, as though someone had drained half her vitality.

He turned back to Ginny—this time, her earlier fear and unease seemed to have vanished. She stood motionless, her expression detached and distant, as if struggling to process what she was seeing.

The professors arrived quickly.

"Another one!" Professor McGonagall said grimly. She levitated the Ravenclaw girl and hurried her to the hospital wing.

"Can you lift the spells on the portraits? They might have seen something," Harry suggested to Dumbledore.

With a wave of his wand, Dumbledore dispelled the magic.

Most of the portraits screamed in terror and fled.

Only a few remained, pausing mid-retreat when they recognized Dumbledore.

"Did any of you see what happened?" Dumbledore asked.

A figure in a starry robe shook his head, his voice trembling. "No, we saw nothing. There was a sudden red light, and then… we couldn't see, hear, or move."

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Powerstones?

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