Chapter 111: A Giant Treasure Chest Ahead—Better Grab It with Both Hands

"There's a huge treasure chest up ahead—better use both hands to grab it," the note read.

"Your detention is tonight," Professor McGonagall said, moving on to the next matter. "You'll help Mr. Filch polish the trophy room, Weasley—no magic allowed. All by hand."

Ron's heart skipped a beat—like, literally stopped for a second.

"Potter, you'll assist Professor Lockhart with replying to his fan mail," McGonagall said, turning to Harry.

"Oh, no, can't I just polish trophies instead?" Harry pleaded, desperation dripping from his voice.

"Absolutely not," McGonagall replied sternly. "And Norton and Granger, you two are helping Mr. Filch clean picture frames. All of you, eight o'clock tonight. Weasley and Potter, your second detention is tomorrow night, same as Norton and Granger. Honestly, how do you four manage to rack up six detentions in less than a week of being here?"

"Is there an award for that?" Cohen asked, genuinely curious. "I mean, I could probably swing a few more—"

"No!" McGonagall snapped, her patience visibly fraying. "I don't want to see any of you in detention again this term—or I'll start wondering if regular detention even works on you lot!"

"So, you're saying we can rack up a few more next term?" Cohen quipped after McGonagall stormed off.

"That's *not* what she meant!" Hermione shot back, half tempted to put some serious distance between herself and this crew.

"Filch is gonna be the death of me," Ron groaned, clutching his chest dramatically. "No magic? That room's got at least a hundred trophies, and I'm no Muggle when it comes to scrubbing…"

"Make sure you polish mine extra shiny," Cohen said, mimicking Filch's gruff tone. "'I don't wanna see a speck of dust on it!'"

Harry and Hermione burst out laughing—Ron just elbowed Cohen in the ribs, fuming.

"Filch can't be in two places at once, though," Hermione said uneasily. "He can't watch the trophy room *and* the castle corridors. I'd rather not have him hovering behind me the whole time… it's creepy."

"Don't worry," Ron muttered, still sulking. "He'll probably park himself in the trophy room to babysit me instead of chasing you two around the castle."

He was wrong.

By eight o'clock that night, they split up on the fourth floor.

Ron headed to the trophy room—completely deserted now.

Harry trudged down to the third-floor Defense Against the Dark Arts office, where Lockhart was humming some obnoxious tune.

Cohen and Hermione, meanwhile, were off to Filch's office near the entrance hall.

"Fred says it's filthy and dark in there," Cohen told Hermione as they walked. "Smells like grilled fish, too—though maybe not anymore, since Mrs. Norris can't eat fish these days…"

"If Filch hears you say that, you're toast," Hermione said, pressing her lips together. "Good thing I used to help out with chores at home. Cleaning frames shouldn't be too bad. Have you ever done housework?"

"Ha!" Cohen grinned. "Never had the chance. My dad's got it all covered at home."

Polishing frames didn't sound too tough, though. Plus, Filch probably wouldn't stick around to supervise, so they could slack off a bit.

They made their way through the quiet castle staircases, past the silent Great Hall, and into the long outer corridor leading to Filch's office.

The torches on the castle walls crackled and flickered—straight out of a horror movie vibe. An empty Hogwarts *did* feel like the kind of place that'd be haunted. Wait—no, Hogwarts *was* already haunted.

And now, it was even *more* haunted.

[*Kill… kill you…*]

The Basilisk's voice slithered out from a nearby wall, moving off into the distance—straight toward Filch's office.

Cohen froze mid-step, slowing down.

"What's wrong? It's almost eight—we need to hurry," Hermione said, noticing his pace drop. "If we're late, they might extend our detention…"

"I've got a feeling we might not have to worry about detention anymore," Cohen said, clicking his tongue.

"Huh?" Hermione blinked, confused.

The Basilisk was already in position—and Cohen was weighing their options.

They had to play dumb, like they didn't know anything. Running away wasn't an option—if Filch's body or statue turned up later, the two kids who "fled the scene" would be prime suspects. 

But going in right now wasn't smart either. The Basilisk was still inside. Cohen might just get petrified—big deal—but if Hermione saw it directly, she'd be dead on the spot.

So, right outside Filch's door, Cohen blocked Hermione's path.

[*Soul Strength: 40*] 

[*Soul Strength: 7*]

Filch was still alive—probably hadn't looked the Basilisk in the eye and got petrified instead.

But the Basilisk was still in there. Cohen could sense it slithering around the room, circling once, then…

It "looked" toward Cohen through the wall, like it could smell him.

Just when Cohen braced for it to smash through the door—it bolted.

The Basilisk sped off along the wall, silent as a ghost.

"Cohen?" Hermione said, picking up on something weird.

"I've got a bad feeling about this." Cohen pushed open Filch's door.

Hermione gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth at the sight inside.

"This… this…"

She could barely breathe.

Filch was facing the window, his expression frozen in terror. Outside was pitch-black night, the candlelight bouncing off the glass and reflecting his petrified face.

He was a statue now—just like his cat.

"Is—is he *dead*?" Hermione's voice shook as she stumbled back a few steps.

"Same as his cat," Cohen said, shutting the door. "We need to tell McGonagall. Something's happened."

Sure, it'd look suspicious, but following the standard "find a crime scene, report it" playbook was their safest bet. This *wasn't* their fault, after all.

Voldemort hadn't given any warning—just struck out of nowhere.

"Y-yeah… we've got to tell McGonagall, fast…" Hermione's mind was blank, not even registering that she might end up a suspect.

They raced to McGonagall's office.

"Shouldn't you two be with Mr. Filch?" McGonagall asked, frowning as they burst in.

"Professor McGonagall! Mr. Filch—he—" Hermione panted, "Something's happened—"

"What?!" McGonagall shot up from behind her desk.

"It's like—like what we saw with Mrs. Norris in the corridor, Professor…" Cohen said, his face deliberately pale as if he were terrified. "Should we get a doctor—or—"

"I'll fetch Professor Dumbledore. You two shouldn't be involved in this," McGonagall said sharply. "I'm taking you back to the common room—stay there tonight. I assume Mr. Weasley's in the trophy room?"

She marched them straight to the Gryffindor Tower, picking up Harry from Lockhart's office and Ron from the trophy room on the way.

"What's going on?" Harry asked, his hands stained with violet ink from when McGonagall had barged in and startled him.

"Don't leave the common room!" McGonagall barked, her tone fiercer than they'd ever heard. "It's dangerous out there—none of you are to wander off!"

(*End of Chapter*)