As one of the most renowned performing troupes in the wizarding world, the Red Skull Dance Troupe was quite famous.
Like ghosts, they were also made up of dead wizards, but instead of becoming ghosts, they had transformed into something akin to life-sized Susanoo-like figures.
From then on, they embarked on a life of both performance and servitude, known for their versatility and skill.
Chair dances, strip dances, pole dances—they could do it all. After all, they didn't have to worry about being sent to Azkaban for indecency by the Ministry of Magic.
However, at Dumbledore's request, their performance tonight was a magically revised version of Hamlet.
In the end, the Red Skull playing Hamlet used Thor's Bone to beat his usurping uncle Claudius to death.
Then, Hamlet used the Resurrection Stone to bring his beloved Ophelia back to life.
William was stunned, it was supposed to be a tragedy, yet it had been forcefully rewritten into a comedy.
He thought to himself that next year, Dumbledore should bring Thunderstorm to Hogwarts.
With his penchant for magical adaptations, perhaps Dumbledore would alter the ending so that Zhou Puyuan's storyline turned into something out of Duan Zhengchun's adventures.
In that case, Zhou Ping and Lu Shiping wouldn't be related by blood at all and could happily become long-lost siblings with no obstacles.
As the performance concluded, Dumbledore dabbed at his tears with a handkerchief.
"Drama. It's far more captivating than anything we do here!"
Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow. She had heard him say similar things before, swapping out "drama" for music, education, snacks, and even close friendships in different contexts.
She refrained from pointing this out publicly… After all, there was a reason she was the Deputy Headmistress and not Snape or Flitwick.
Some things were better left unsaid.
"Professor, if you don't mind, my shoulder is available," Hagrid said, offering a comforting gesture as Dumbledore's staunchest supporter.
With so many students expelled from Hogwarts, including notable figures like Newt Scamander, it wasn't mere luck that Hagrid retained a steady job and even earned some side gigs.
There was always a reason for everything!
"Thank you, Hagrid. I'll manage my emotions," Dumbledore said as he wiped away more tears.
"This play wasn't that impressive, the storyline was weak," Lockhart chimed in. "I could write something like this in my sleep!"
McGonagall shook her head. Young people… so narrow-minded.
"Professor, were you moved by Hamlet?" Professor Flitwick asked curiously.
"No, it was Laertes who moved me," Dumbledore said somberly.
"His sister died because of Hamlet, yet even in his quest for vengeance, he was hesitant to harm Hamlet. His wand never fully committed to the attack.
"When he finally resolved to strike Hamlet, the narration said, 'But my heart protests against it.'
"Ah, Laertes must have been in such torment.
"I believe he would rather have died himself if it meant exchanging his life to save his sister and Hamlet."
Flitwick looked bewildered. Wasn't Hamlet the main character of the play?
Yet in Dumbledore's retelling, Laertes sounded nobler, with more emotional depth.
Indeed, there was a reason Dumbledore was such an exceptional headmaster, he could always observe what others overlooked.
Suddenly, Dumbledore stopped talking and lifted his head, tilting his ear as if listening intently.
"What is it, Professor?" Snape asked with a frown.
Dumbledore didn't respond, his brows furrowed as though deep in thought.
Soon, the feast ended, and the students began to leave, bustling toward their common rooms.
But as they reached the staircase, a shrill, heart-wrenching cry pierced the air.
Everyone froze in alarm, turning toward the source of the sound.
At the base of the staircase stood Mrs. Norris and Boba Tea.
They pushed through the crowd, heading straight for William.
Boba Tea, clearly terrified, sprinted at an unlikely speed for its chubby frame and leapt into William's arms.
Mrs. Norris let out a chilling wail, a sound like a baby's cry, that made everyone's hair stand on end.
Her wide eyes stared at William as she yowled several times.
Everyone stared at the suddenly frantic cat.
"Is it trying to tell us something?" Hermione asked, frowning.
"Probably that something happened to Filch."
Mrs. Norris spun around and dashed off. William pushed through the crowd, following her with long strides.
Hermione stayed close behind him, as though afraid something might happen to him.
Mrs. Norris raced up the marble stairs, sped along the third-floor corridor, and finally rounded a corner into a deserted hallway.
At the end of the hall, glowing letters shimmered ominously in the darkness:
The Chamber of Secrets has been opened.
Enemies of the Heir, beware!
Harry stood frozen in front of the wall, looking utterly horrified, like a criminal caught red-handed.
"It wasn't me…"
Harry stammered, trying to explain, but before he could finish, Malfoy pushed his way through the crowd.
His cold eyes gleamed with excitement, and his usually pale face was flushed red.
He stared at the words and sneered at Hermione.
"Enemies of the Heir, beware! You're next, you mud—"
Malfoy's mouth snapped shut mid-sentence, as though an invisible force had sewn his lips together.
William gently placed Boba Tea into Hermione's arms and walked up to Malfoy with a calm, expressionless face.
Malfoy's two lackeys rushed forward, but William didn't even turn, he flicked his wand.
A flash of red light—
And the two lackeys flew backward, slamming into the wall.
Malfoy trembled slightly. William let out a humorless chuckle and whispered, "Don't be afraid, I'm not going to hit you.
"I'm just curious: who gave you the courage to speak like that in front of me, hmm?"
"This time…"
William's tone was soft, but his words were sharp. "You're silent for one day.
"Next time…
"It'll be three days."
"I hope this is the last time I ever hear that word—mudblood—from your mouth."
"Otherwise…"
William tilted his head and traced his wand lightly across Malfoy's throat.
"I can't guarantee you won't lose your voice forever."
Malfoy collapsed to the floor, utterly terrified.
William turned away and walked toward Harry, his pupils narrowing as he signaled for Hermione to stay back.
At the far end of the corridor, Filch lay sprawled on the ground, limbs splayed out.
Near him was a large hunk of rotten sheep's stomach and a broom.
Before being attacked, Filch had likely been trying to clean up the pile of rancid food that Nick had mentioned was missing.
There was a bloodstain on Filch's chest, his only wound.
Strangely, the wound bled very little and had already begun to heal slowly.
On the floor beneath him was a small pool of blood, already dried into a powdery residue.
In Filch's right palm, there was a symbol drawn in blood.
There was also blood on his left index finger, it was clear someone had dipped their finger into the wound to create the symbol.
Using blood as ink and skin as canvas…
The culprit was playing a game.