My heart skipped a beat as the photo came to life. There we were, Jacob and I, jumping up and down and grinning at Mom. She must have thought it was because we were excited. Mischievous, giggling, and making silly faces at each other. Little did she...
She's never where she is. She's only inside her head.
— Janet Fitch, "White Oleander"
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The cold air hit us like a wall as we stepped inside. We exchanged glances, gave each other nods, and pressed on.
Our footsteps rang through the corridor flooded with glistening ice lumps. They seemed to leer at us, glinting menacingly as we made our way through. From the corner of my eye, I saw Rowan poke at the icy crust on the wall. It crumbled and fell. Oddly, she looked a bit guilty.
"Let's take a look around first, and then..."
I quickly interrupted her train of thought, "I wonder where this door leads."
It was challenging to spot the door amidst all the shimmering ice. What caught my attention was the lock — massive, encrusted with frost and intricate patterns. Rowan leaned in to inspect the keyhole and squinted, her glasses almost touching the door.
"No key's going to fit in here. It's not hollow, see?" she muttered.
I crouched down to examine the lock more closely. She was absolutely right — there was no keyhole. "What were they thinking when they made a lock without a keyhole? Is this some kind of joke?" Rowan grumbled.
"But we have something better than a key, don't we?" I said, a grin forming on my face. "A spell-key." We both aimed our wands at the lock:
"Aloho..."
...and something hissed right under our feet. Rowan let out a startled yelp and nearly stumbled onto a jagged ice shard. I managed to catch her just in time.
"No-o, it cannot be!"
The hissing sound repeated, and I spotted its source beneath our cloak's hem. A shiver ran down my spine. There was only one cat in all of Hogwarts with red eyes and a unique knack for tracking down rule-breakers. Mrs. Norris arched her back menacingly and hissed again. It could only mean one thing...
"Filch!"
When it came to Mr. Filch, there was no room for debate. We raced toward the exit with more haste than a Quidditch broom. The icicles seemed to wave us farewell as we dashed past them. Only when we reached the Grand Staircase did I finally come to a halt to catch my breath. Rowan was nearly collapsing herself. She rested her hands on her knees and stared at the floor for a moment. Then, she parted her lips:
"I don't think Mrs. Norris was happy to see us."
I couldn't help but chuckle. "There's not much to be happy about when you're Filch's cat. Seriously."
I truly admired the ceiling, which today projected swirling clouds and occasional lightning flashes. The thunderous ambiance melded with students' laughter, chatter, and the clinking of cutlery on plates. We located an empty spot at the end of the Ravenclaw table, right across from the bird boy we'd spotted earlier. What was his name again?
