Chapter 109 & 110: Slithering Letters & Courtly Inquisition
Chapter 109: Slithering Letters

9 January 1993, Hogwarts

Harry woke up in his dormitory while everyone else was asleep. It was later than he usually got up since he decided to take the day as a break. It was the weekend and he had made up his mind to spend more time with his friends, even at the expense of his magical development. Even if he had all the power in the world, one of the things that the Potter scion feared the most was dying alone. Ever since he returned to the castle, he felt oddly relaxed, like a weight had lifted from his shoulders.

The only small issue would be the small amount of awkwardness that was present between Harry and his friends. Ever since he gave them the bean ultimatum, they have been acting a bit weirdly around him. They haven't decided on which road to take, and seeing that Harry started going back to his previous self and actually hanging out with them, they sort of felt like the whole thing resolved itself. Plus, the lack of any attack for almost two months made the whole Chamber of Secrets thing slip away from everyone's mind. Harry's friends probably made an agreement between themselves not to mention the bean exchange, and the Potter scion was more than willing to let the entire thing slide until they eventually cave in and make their decision when Riddle inevitably starts attacking again. It was best to just enjoy the relaxing time in school while he still could.

Speaking of the castle, the atmosphere in Hogwarts after the winter holidays were over, was very tense, and it had everything to do with Longbottom returning. The young Gryffindor's status as a Parselmouth and the fact that no attacks occurred while he was suspended, pretty much made him the culprit in the school population's eyes. The fact that he had gotten away with what was basically a month-long vacation, and a slap on the wrist didn't help matters. Well, there was also his yearlong Quidditch ban and expulsion from his house's team.

The Longbottom scion was particularly vocal about it when he complained to McGonagall about it being an unfair punishment since the entire house would suffer and not just him. Let's just say that the Transfiguration professor wasn't amused. But most of all, Harry could tell that his alienation from the rest of the student body was really affecting him. For all he tried to pretend that everything was normal, Harry could see his fury slowly grow with every person that avoided him or sneered at him. The boy was a few days away from snapping. Harry decided to just stay away from him as much as possible and save himself the headache.

As for Ron Weasley, according to his brothers, the boy had experienced the worst Christmas in his life, when his mother confiscated his gifts and made him eat roast beef sandwiches on Christmas Eve. The boy wasn't even allowed to leave his room. Apparently, while being suspended he had shamed the Weasley family, and he was being punished for it.

The final member of the Golden Trio practically withdrew to herself. Hermione Granger had been oddly silent ever since the incident. She stopped raising her hands during class and wilted every time a professor so much as looked in her direction. Spending almost a month in isolation had really hurt the muggleborn's self-esteem, especially since she was treated as a pariah. Slytherin students particularly glared at the girl, since it was their common room that she broke into, but it never devolved into anything serious. Snape didn't need to tell them how harassing a muggleborn is not a good idea, especially with this whole Heir of Slytherin mess going on.

Even when Longbottom and Weasley's suspensions lifted, the three of them still acted somewhat more distant than they were before. They must have felt invincible in the school since Dumbledore was never going to expel the boy who lived. It would have been political suicide to stop him from pursuing his education, or even worse, drive him to get it in another country, and that's not mentioning the plans that the headmaster had for the Longbottom scion for the next few years.

So, yeah, the Golden Trio thought on a very fundamental level that they could get away with anything in the castle as long as they had 'good intentions'. If Longbottom hadn't been publicly caught, the headmaster would have either threatened or convinced the witnesses to stay silent. Yeah, that timed dispelling of the Polyjuice was one of the best moments of brilliance Harry ever had.

Still, the Potter scion had to regret the tension that his decision to discreetly reveal the intruding Gryffindors caused. The entire house became alert for any other intruders, and even a few paranoid students started to trade code words to verify that they weren't impostors.

Harry changed out of his pyjamas and into his normal clothes. After he was done changing, he put on the new addition to his outfit, a black fedora made of Acromantula silk. Daphne had gotten it to him for Christmas. She had even made sure that no one enchanted it, knowing that Harry would have been the one to do it. He really liked it and there was honestly something about turning a hat into a pocket dimension with an undetectable expansion charm. The Potter scion had even started to learn space magic, since it was a very useful field of magic that wasn't commonly mastered, probably due to how complicated the arithmancy was, and also the fact that any mistake tended to have drastic and often deadly effects.

There was this witch, who tried to expand the space of her handbag, only for her to accidentally turn the inside of the bag into some kind of proto-singularity. And since the bint didn't even think about containing the gravity, it sucked her inside and kept her trapped inside. Similarly, there were horror stories about expanded magical tents that collapsed with people inside, squishing the participants into balls of meat. So, yeah, any kind of advanced spacial manipulation was somewhat regulated by the ministry, and you needed to be certified to be able to sell any spatially expanded item. Thankfully, Hogwarts seemed to have enough books on the subject, particularly in the restricted section. And if that collection was unsatisfactory, Harry could just ask Arcturus Black to send him more books on the subject.

Anyway, Daphne's gift was very stylish, and he liked it. The girl seemed to brighten up every time she saw him wearing it, which was a nice feeling. They had all decided to stick with a budget of ten galleons for the gifts this year, since Blaise's mother, who often bought his presents for him, tended to go overboard. Harry had given her a very old book about druids that he had found while pilfering the Room of Hidden Things. He honestly didn't know what to give her. She seemed to like the book, but it wasn't as thought out as his hat had been.

He had decided to just bite the bullet and start scavenging the Room of Hidden Things for his purpose. To be perfectly honest, the elves did a good job at cleaning up everything, and to his disappointment, there wasn't a pile of lost gold and silver in the room. Since the elves were the ones to actually put everything, they wanted to throw away there, anything that seemed valuable, like gold, was given back to the headmaster. All the books were just normal schoolbooks that were lost over the years. There was a lot of information that wasn't in the new books and more than a few classes that were cancelled. Harry didn't know that there was an entire class just to focus on conjuration. It was a NEWT class of course, but it was interesting that it was later lumped with transfiguration.

However, it was in the briefcases that Harry found the most treasure. Well, there were hundreds of them, and most of their enchantments had worn out. Thankfully, the spacial expansion worked fine and held pretty well. The luggage usually contained personal items, which often included gold pouches, a few books, some clothes, and a few artefacts that probably used to be charmed. Harry had gotten over a hundred galleons already just from finding gold in briefcases. It wasn't much in the grand scheme of things, but it was still enough for him to forgo visiting the bank in the summer.

Anyway, Harry had learnt a lot of spells to sort through the mess and used it to separate sections of the Room into books, briefcases, and whatever else there was. Almost everything was just garbage, that he put aside to practice vanishing charms on them later.

So, long story short, Harry's spent his time productively. The only thing he regretted was the fact that he had to delay most of the business meetings that he had planned to have during the Christmas holidays since he accepted Arcturus Black's invitation to spend Christmas with him, and while he liked the man, he didn't trust him enough to handle any kind of financial matters that concerned the Potter family. He would have to sneak out of the castle to attend the meetings. He already knew of a few hidden entrances so getting out wouldn't be an issue. The problem would be the fact that his absence would need to stay unnoticed so that no one tries to get involved in his personal affairs.

He didn't really regret spending time with Arcturus. Not only had the man given him most of the materials he needed to craft his colt, but Harry also found that he genuinely liked the man's sense of humour, and his war stories were very wild, to say the least.

The Black Patriarch's expression after seeing the Colt being made was hilarious. When Harry explained what it was, his eyes kept widening with every word and his jaw dropped just a little bit further the more he realized what it was that Harry created.

An instrument of perfect death. A weapon capable of killing anything with a soul.

To say that he was impressed would be an understatement. Harry was sure that if he wasn't already the head of House Potter, the man would have forced the Black crest on him and paraded him around like a trophy.

To be perfectly honest, Harry didn't think he could replicate the process of creating a weapon of that calibre again. He didn't know how he could explain it, but it was like the path he had taken to create it just wasn't there anymore.

And that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. The Colt wasn't a weapon to be used lightly. It was why Harry kept it in a warded box in his trunk. Every single one of these seven shots had to count. They had to matter. And reserving one bullet for a magical weapon of mass destruction that threatened the lives of an entire generation of wizards and witches, was an easy decision to make.

Honestly, Harry wasn't that concerned about the fight with the King of Serpents anymore. The Colt, coupled with his Basilisk Glare-resistant goggles, and his arcane hearing to warn him from any hidden danger, Harry thought that his chances at killing the beast were pretty good.

The Potter scion looked back and saw that Blaise was still asleep. He sighed in exasperation and decided to just stay in the common room until his friends woke up.

He decided to sit down in his usual spot and read a book. This time, it was a basic theory about extension charms in general. It was interesting if a dry read. Which was a shame, because the topic was fascinating.

Of course, his reading was interrupted by a letter levitating towards him. The Potter scion didn't know who would contact him like this, but his eyes widened when he understood who the sender was. There was a green wax seal on the letter. It had the shape of the same crest that he wore on his robes every day, the Slytherin crest. This was a message from the court of Slytherin.

The moment he opened the letter, it floated up and started speaking in a soft female voice, "Harry Potter, you are hereby summoned by the Court of Slytherin regarding an issue pertaining to the unwritten rules on the house. Please follow the glowing green line to your meeting place in the next five minutes. Thank you for your cooperation. The Black Bishop of Slytherin, messenger of the court."

A green line appeared from the letter and spread to the familiar secret entrance of the ritual rooms. The court's headquarters must be there. Thankfully, the common room was deserted, so, no one heard his summoning.

Harry could ignore it, he really did. Alas, he was a curious boy. And who didn't want to solve a mystery? The Potter scion grinned to himself, "I have a feeling that this will be interesting."



Chapter 110: Courtly Inquisition

9 January 1993, Hogwarts

The Court of Slytherin was one of the few mysteries of the school that Harry didn't fully know about. Oh, he knew about the members and the politics, but the history of that particular group was absent from any book in the castle. The Potter scion was better off reading diaries that students threw away in the Room of Hidden Things, to find any information on how the Court was created.

To be perfectly honest, that information was the only reason that Harry would even consider joining the court, and honestly, it wasn't that important to him in the long run. But to have the opportunity just come in front of him, Harry didn't see the issue to take a peek at the proceedings of the court.

The truth was apart from the general knowledge about the court, there was no specific information about the court. They were like the eyes in the dark, that punished those who had broken the unwritten rules of Slytherin. They did it discreetly, from the shadows. They knew everyone's pressure points and acted on them. Harry honestly thought that there might be someone with a modicum of intelligence in this group, and it was an exciting thing to see.

So, considering the way the court has operated previously, summoning Harry like this was an irregular occurrence. For one, it was commonly known that they did not involve themselves with younger students, especially not first and second years. The occasional third year that goes too far might get their attention, but as far as Harry knows, the court shouldn't care about him.

And the second thing was that the court often dealt with people discreetly. They didn't send letters to the common room to summon other students, or Harry would have heard about it. So, the conclusion is easy to make and inevitable.

With a cheeky grin on his face, Harry followed the green light, which brought him to the entrance to the ritual room. Harry walked down until the light seemed to get inside a hidden door behind a stairway. His Arcane Hearing could pick the faint warding scheme on the door. It didn't come close to the actual wards of the castle, which had a lot more flavour if he had to put it into words.

Anyway, the wards picked up the magic coming from the wax seal and allowed him entry. Huh, that was a pretty unsafe way to put anyone into the wards; it would be somewhat simple to copy the magic from the wax and get inside easily. Harry's abilities made it somewhat easy to do that, but any amateur curse breaker had to master the skill, even if it was a lot harder for them to implement and necessitated a lot of advanced arithmancy.

Anyway, Harry decided to enter the room, and the moment he stepped in, the door behind him melded into a wall, blocking the entrance. Interesting, an intimidation tactic…

The torches lit up by their own, revealing a corridor, and Harry walked towards its end and saw a door that was almost as large as that of the Great Hall. The Potter scion spread his senses and noticed that the enchantments on the door were far more powerful than the ones on the previous entrance.

The door itself was imposing; it was made of polished stone and had engravings that felt alive, with a faint ethereal light that illuminated the markings. Serpents slithered and entwined in a dance of magic, their eyes glowing with an otherworldly intensity. They were staring at him as if challenging him to enter the room behind it. This was what he wanted to see. Something new. Something truly magical. Interestingly, when the Potter scion looked closer there were exactly twenty snakes.

The serpents didn't really try to see if he was allowed to enter, and the door opened from his own. Oh, they had opened it from the inside. When he peered into the room, Harry saw almost two dozen people wearing green wooden masks of various snakes and sitting in what looked to be an amphitheatre. In the centre was a chair that was almost filled to the brim with restraining charms that would immobilize the person who sat on it in seconds the moment they were activated.

Oh, so it was this kind of meeting. Well, that changed things.

The man sitting at the helm spoke up first, "Harry Potter. Take a seat so that this hearing would proceed."

He was wearing the biggest mask with scales surrounding him, with yellow eyes and horns. A Basilisk, then, the King of Serpents, so that must be the king of the court. When he spoke, the serpent moved his mouth with him. His voice was deep, modulated, and filled with authority.

Yeah, Harry wasn't going to sit down in that death trap of a chair, "You know what, I'd prefer to stand. You know, they say that sitting is one of the biggest causes of death in developed nations. Plus, standing has proven to be healthier, increases productivity, and just looks cooler."

"What?" the man just sounded confused. It was just so funny to see this illusion of intimidation fall apart with a single question.

Harry clapped his hand, pretending that the man just didn't understand what he was saying, "Well, picture someone doing something heroic. Now, was he sitting or was he standing? That's exactly my point. It's also a lot easier to think while walking around."

"Just sit down, Potter!" one of the people wearing an Ashwinder mask on the right yelled out.

Harry just raised an eyebrow, "Well, I tried to be polite, but if you think I'm sitting anywhere near that deathtrap of a chair, then you're very mistaken."

"Potter," a woman in a dark-horned serpent mask, who was sitting at the right of the king, responded, "this is a hearing to decide your guilt in breaking the unwritten rules. Having you sit on the chair is traditional for court hearings for centuries."

Ah, the unwritten rules of Slytherin. They were the only way the entire house didn't collapse because of infighting, and they were also enforced entirely by the court. The rules were simple, Slytherins are to be united outside the common room. The politics of Slytherin House should not involve the faculty or the members of other houses. You are not allowed to go back on any deal you make without reparations decided by the recipient. You are not allowed to divulge the secrets of the house to anyone outside the house, and finally, you are not to purposefully harm the house in general.

That was it. The rules that stopped the house from imploding spectacularly. The house was filled with politics. Sabotage and manipulation, trading favours and dismantling your rivals were routinely seen in the common room. It was basic training for the politicking that awaited a lot of the members of the house the moment they graduated. It was an environment that was perfect for heirs to grow and learn, hence why most families favoured Slytherin as the house for their children to be sorted in.

However, if people started to get other houses involved, these rivalries would turn into actual encounters, and the factions would turn into gangs in everything but names. Hogwarts didn't need conflict on a scale like this, so the rules were made. Also, the reputation of the house was negative ever since Lord Voldemort was a thing, so staying united and avoiding the rest of the school was a good survival mechanism.

Now, this was all well and good, but it didn't explain a lot of things with this encounter. Harry shrugged, "Well, good luck with that. I'm not sitting on the chair, and let's just stop kidding ourselves. You don't bring people down here to judge anything. You thrive in anonymity. If I really broke one of the rules, you would have dealt with me discreetly. And I'm a second year, so you normally don't really care about us yet. You think we're too troublesome and immature for you to deal with."

"But you're not immature, are you, Potter?" the woman, probably the black queen, asked.

"I'll admit that I'm more mature than the average twelve-year-old, but I'm definitely troublesome to deal with, especially when you're trying to take advantage of me."

The entire court shifted, and the woman, "And how are we taking advantage of you?"

The Potter scion snorted, "That's fairly obvious. You summoned me here, which meant that you wanted to speak with me. If I had done anything wrong, you wouldn't have done that. You would have just punished me or just ignored it. That meant that you wanted something from me. But what could I give you that you don't already have? It's not gold or rare artefacts. I don't owe anyone favours, so the answer is simple. You want knowledge. But not magical knowledge, since all I know can be found in the library and I'm too young to use my family crest. So, it has to do with something recent, something I know. Tell me, am I close?"

Harry grinned to himself as they all looked around each other and the Black Queen took a deep breath, "Fine. We have cancelled the security enchantments. You can sit down."

Harry heard the oppressing song surrounding the chair fade into nothing. There was still magic mixed in with the chair, but it was faint and pretty mild compared to how it used to be. Of course, the King could reactivate it at any time, but Harry would have the time to sense it and negate any ward cast, or just leave the chair before it takes hold since they usually need a couple of seconds to activate.

Rolling his eyes, the Potter scion sat down on the uncomfortable chair, "So, how may I help this illustrious court?"

"Alright, the court is in session. For formality's sake, what is your name and when were you born?" the other queen asked.

Immediately, Harry felt something try to invade his mind. Ah, some kind of truth field that added a compulsion to whoever sat on the chair to say nothing but the truth. They probably thought that they had tricked him or something. The Potter scion suppressed the urge to snot and just responded, "My name is Harry Potter, and I was born on the Thirty-first of July 1980."

The white queen nodded, "We are here to discuss the actions regarding Neville Longbottom's infiltration of our common room. Did you allow them to infiltrate our common room?"

Harry shook his head, "No."

"Did you give them any advice or was involved in any way in their infiltration?"

"No, I was not?"

"But you immediately realized that these were imposters," the White Queen pressed.

Harry nodded, "I did."

"And how did you do that without any prior knowledge?"

"Their body language was different, the way they spoke, the questions that they asked, were not typical. I wasn't absolutely certain at first because they could have been dosed with something, or under some kind of spell, so I asked a few questions, and it was easy to tell that they were lying. I touched them discreetly and found that the transformation was physical, which meant that it was either human transfiguration or Polyjuice potion. Considering the fact that the intruder probably wasn't a transfiguration master, the potion was used to impersonate the victims."

"So, you knew that they were imposters, but not that they were Longbottom and his cohorts."

"No, I immediately knew who they were. The identities of the victims meant that they were somewhat familiar with them. The only people who really knew about those three were in our year, and the only people who had the balls to break into the common room in our year were the Golden Trio. Their little adventure last year made them feel invincible and they would think that they were above the rules. Since there were three intruders, the conclusion was evident."

The Queen pressed on, "And what did they ask you about?"

"The Chamber of Secrets, mostly."

"And what do you know about the Chamber of Secrets?"

"I know many things about the Chamber."

"Like what?"

Harry grinned to himself, "Like the fact that it was built by Salazar Slytherin."

His voice echoed in the chamber. The entire court was just speechless by his answer. Yeah, if they're going to try to mess with Harry, it was only right that he would do the same to them.

"Are you being curt with me, Potter?" the White Queen growled back.

"Oh, I'm just answering truthfully…"

The White Queen looked like she wanted to explode but was stopped by a motion from the king who asked in his baritone voice, "You figured out the truth Ward."

Harry shrugged, "Before I even said a word. Interesting ward. Not a particularly strong one, to be honest. I'm guessing it's new, at least compared to the other enchantments on the chair."

"Why are you being so difficult, Potter?" the Black Queen asked.

"Because we both know that you brought me here because you wanted to know something, but you already know exactly what I said to Longbottom and his friends. So, why don't we just save some time and get to the point of things."

The woman stiffened, "And how do you know that?"

"You just told me, right now. It was an educated guess but thank you for confirming it. So, with that confirmed, it would mean that you had a way to get access to that conversation. You have a way to survey and record the members of the house, no, the common room, more specifically. It can't be something that you did, since anything like that would have been overwhelmed by the wards, so it had to be included by either a headmaster or a head of house before your time, and I can't see a faculty member surveilling student dormitories or mess with ritual rooms. So, that's how you get your information. You're constantly spying on the house. Interesting indeed. Efficient. Most of the power plays happen in the common room, so you pretty much have the entire battlefield at your disposal."

"Potter, you're out of line…" the Black Queen began.

"No, you don't get to say that because you're the people that brought me here. You can't expect to stop me from thinking out loud, could you? And it's not like I'm condemning your actions. The common room is a public place. You can spy on people there as much as you want. Now, if you were doing the same with dormitories, then we'd have an issue on our hands. So, why don't we get back to the subject since I'm starting to get hungry."

"Fine. Why did you tell Longbottom about the Chamber of Secrets?" The Queen asked while obviously gritting his teeth.

"Because I could. There was no reason not to tell them about the chamber. The information was public."

"Then why didn't you unmask them immediately?"

"Because the very fact they broke in was troubling. It meant that Dumbledore had given them a way in. No matter what the Weasley twins like to say, one does not simply break into another common room. There are wards and protections against intruders. Only Snape and Dumbledore could have allowed them entry. It's safe to say that Snape would rather obliviate himself of all potion knowledge than allow them to enter our common room. That meant that Dumbledore approved of their actions."

One of the people on the right of the king, wearing a Runespoor mask, exclaimed, "So, that's why you waited until they left to dispel the transformation. You wanted their reveal to be public while not having to deal with Dumbledore."

All three heads of the snake were speaking at the same time. It looked disconcerting, to be perfectly honest.

"Yes, the outrage would be enough that he wouldn't be able to protect Longbottom, and it would cost him a lot of influence in the long run. As you all probably know, I was right."

"And are you also right about the beast being a Basilisk?" the man in the Runespoor mask asked with a hesitating voice.

"Ah, so you did your homework, I see. My conclusions could lead to such a theory. Or maybe I just lied to screw with Longbottom. I could be right, I could be wrong, who knows? Now, that I think about it, this is starting to drag. I have no idea if you're doing this on purpose, going around and around with information that you either know or just don't care about. I don't know if you want to gratify me for revealing Longbottom, or just try to intimidate me. I don't know if this is some kind of twisted recruitment ritual that you have going on and I don't care. Let's just stop going around in circles and tell me exactly what you want from me because I haven't had my morning coffee yet, and this is starting to piss me off. I don't care about house politics, and while you have a lot of influence, it's not something that concerns me a lot. I'm an academic and you know that. Sure, I might need a favour here and there and you could deny me, but we both know that it wouldn't look good if it got out that the court was breaking its own rules and going after a second year, and by the time you can do anything, in a year or two, the entire court would be different, wouldn't it? So, in the spirit of efficiency and for my peace of mind, let me give you an ultimatum. If you people don't start telling me exactly what the purpose of this meeting is, I will get up and leave."

Harry's little rant was met with a deafening silence across the entire chamber, until the King stood up, getting everyone's attention and spoke up, "Alright, you have made your point. The purpose of this meeting is very simple. We wish to know what's your plan to deal with Basilisk."



AN:

Alright, I wanted to know your opinion on how I presented the court. I wanted to have a balance in terms of competence considering their experience in the house, and the fact that they're still teenagers that are probably scared shitless about the Basilisk. I don't know if I managed it, so let me know if you think I should change anything. I'm not sure if I nailed what I was trying to convey, to be honest.
 
Chapter 111 & 112: Unwanted Truths & Wolf of Hogsmeade
Chapter 111: Unwanted Truths

9 January 1993, Hogwarts

Harry's little rant was met with a deafening silence across the entire chamber, until the King stood up, getting everyone's attention and spoke up, "Alright, you have made your point. The purpose of this meeting is very simple. We wish to know what's your plan to deal with Basilisk."

At their answer, Harry couldn't help but burst into laughter. By the powers, these idiots want Harry to share his plans with them. The King was obviously experienced when it came to politics. He was pretty good for someone his age, but that's it. He was a teenager.

These were all teenagers who were trying to play with something that they didn't comprehend. They were the power brokers of the school. They spied on the other Slytherins and used that information to make bargains and deals. They had contacts inside and outside the school, and they could sneak banned items in, or illegal potions, a few hard-to-find ingredients. At most, they attacked people from the shadows.

So, that's all this court was. For all its glorified prestige in the house, it was just an association to trade favours and enforce the unwritten rules of the house. It probably used to be something else when it was created, especially considering the nature of the magic involved, but currently, it is barely more than a Slytherin student association. It seemed powerful if you were a normal student, maybe even a little intimidating, but that was it.

They shouldn't even be anywhere near a Basilisk.

Seriously, it would be like giving a school student council the responsibility of dealing with a nuke.

It was just that the situation was so absurd that the Potter scion couldn't help but burst into laughter.

After a few minutes, the white queen seemed to take offence at his nature, "What's so funny, Potter?"

Harry decided to mess with them a bit more, "It's all about plans for you, isn't it? Dumbledore has plans. The heir of Slytherin has plans. Even the Dark Lord had plans before he got himself blown up. That's how the world works, isn't it? Plans upon plans, one on top of the other, each person trying to complete their own while making sure that their enemies' plans fail. No one panics when things go 'according to plan', even if the plan is horrifying. If someone figures out that a muggleborn or a squib gets petrified, no one panics, because it's all part of the plan. But now that you think there's a chance that the monster could kill any one of us, then everyone loses their mind. This illusion of safety that you had was gone. I guess it's true. Ignorance is bliss, isn't it? So, look at me, look at my face right now. Does it look like I give a shit about your plans..."

Every single court member shifted around awkwardly, and Harry continued, "And you know what's even funnier, you have no idea what you're dealing with. You want to go after whoever is opening the chamber, be my guest, but the fact remains that you're so outclassed, it's not even funny. That's the thing that you don't understand, you're not fighting the Basilisk. The beast would like nothing more than to kill every resident of the castle, pureblood, half-blood, and muggleborn alike. This entire thing is a game and you can't even see the board. The heir of Slytherin is a player, I am a player. As is Dumbledore for that matter, but he's being discreet about it. Or at least, he tries to be discreet."

The Black Bishop growled at Harry's answer, "And how is this a game?"

"You're not seeing it. You're going to get eaten alive if you even try to do something about this," Harry responded, "you only have to look at the attacks, idiots."

Sneering at their confused muttering, he continued, "You look at the attack, and you try to figure out who did it. And that's not a bad thing, but the more important question is why. Why was Filch the victim in the first place? Why was the attack right next to the Great Hall? The answer is simple, fear. Filch was barely out of sight for a few seconds when he was attacked, and irksome or not, he's a member of the faculty. The heir's message was simple: 'I can get anyone anywhere, and no one can stop me'. The message on the wall was also a threat, a promise of future violence. It was written by hand, but the hand was charmed to not reveal any fingerprints. It was also written before the attack even took place."

"How so?" the black queen asked.

"It's obvious. The time it would take to write a message in blood would be too long if you considered the timeline."

"He could have used magic to do it…"

The Potter scion snorted, "Dumbledore would have detected it in seconds and tracked down the perpetrator. No magic was involved in writing the message. There was no magic in the blood used. So, the conclusion is simple, the message was written before the attack. That means that the location was chosen, but maybe not the person. That meant one of two things, either the victim was random and the moment any acceptable person was in the corridor without any other students around, the heir attacked. But that would indicate a randomness that does not fit the profile of the attacker. Or, the most likely solution, the victim was chosen far before the attack was made. It was essentially a play, made using an entire network of students to get that done, although they are probably under some kind of compulsion charm. A few students made sure to block the corridor slightly, either with notice-me-not charms or physically, while Filch, under a compulsion charm or an imperious curse, ended up in the exact spot underneath the message, which was probably covered with an object that was put under an illusion. After Filch realized what had happened, he was petrified, and his cat had died, but that was probably an accident. So, tell me, oh court of Slytherin, do you think you can deal with a level of preparedness that the heir exhibited?"

Harry could tell that he had frightened them. These weren't bad people, just teenagers over their heads. The man in the Basilisk mask spoke up, "And Dumbledore is aware of all of this."

"I don't know, but probably," the Potter scion admitted, "Look Dumbledore is already putting a lot of secrecy charms on the whole thing. It's subtle but you can feel it and overcome it if you want to. Tell me, did any of you tell your parents about the chamber of secrets being opened?"

They all hesitantly started to shake their heads and Harry continued, "You just realized that you should probably do that, don't you? It's very sneaky, a compulsion added to the castle not to inform the press or anyone outside it about the shady stuff that happens under Dumbledore's watch. Like the Forbidden Corridor, last year. Did any of you think about informing your parents about it? Look, I know it's scary, but that's how it is. The more the curtain is lifted, the more you'll realize how it would have been better to stay in the dark. So, let me give you a piece of advice. Stay out of this. Don't look for the heir, don't think about fighting a fucking Basilisk, and go on with your day, hoping that the heir would still be merciful enough to stick to petrifying and not killing. If you really can't stop thinking about it, ask your parents to temporarily withdraw you from the school and just return for your exams."

Harry really did feel guilty about how freaked out they all were. He didn't know that the common room was bugged. It was a giant breach of privacy, and he could see how this feature was probably used to silence any opposition to Voldemort's movement in Slytherin during the war.

The fact is that had Harry known about the common room being bugged, he wouldn't have revealed enough clues for anyone to know what the monster was. He would have probably taken Longbottom aside in the dormitories instead and revealed the information to him there.

Now, he had accidentally involved students in this mess and that wasn't good for anyone's sake. Harry could tell that they were terrified. They wanted to do anything about the whole issue, but there was really no action they could take that would make any difference.

The Black Bishop growled, "And how do we know you're not just pulling our tail, that you're not just pretending to know anything just so that we would invite you to a place amongst up next year?"

The Potter scion let out a snort, "The answer is simple. If you doubted my words, you wouldn't be as afraid as you are now. But fine, if you need a demonstration that I'm not lying, I am more than willing to demonstrate. For example, I could tell that the entrance to this room is by blood. There are small traces of blood on the snakes in the doorway. Cleaning charms could only do so much on something as magically complex as the court's doorway. So, since the wards didn't probe my magic, that must be the way in. But for blood to be added to the wards or removed, you need something that acts as an anchor. The door itself would be risky since giving direct access to the whole security scheme to an intruder is a bad idea, but it is curious how it matches up to these wooden masks of yours. You see, wooden masks have been used all over the world for a very long time. But they were used by peasants in the old days for their cultural practices. But the masks on your heads are hand-crafted pieces of art, and obviously old. This style of masks in particular was commonly used in theatrical performances in the seventeenth century, just after the statute of secrecy was put in place. But they stopped being made centuries later, the more we were separated from muggle culture. No self-respected teenager would ever wear something as tacky, and uselessly expensive today. It would be better put on a wall as an antique. Conclusion: you're forced to use the masks. Final theory: the masks are bonded to you with blood, which is connected to the door. Now, I have a question for you all. Considering that this is the first time I have ever met the court in any capacity, and also the fact that I have no interest whatsoever in joining it next year, why would I even bother lying to you?"

They all froze for a second and Harry continued, "There's no shame in admitting that you're out of your league. So, here is my honest to Merlin recommendation. Leave the heir of Slytherin alone. I have been playing against this opponent for months and I'm sad to admit that I lost against him more than I won. He is ruthless, pragmatic, intelligent, arrogant, and very emotional. So, go back to your bargaining, to your little school politics and your intelligence network. You're better off not getting involved and I'm telling you, right now, if you ignore my words, I will not save you when you inevitably step on the toes of people far more powerful than you can handle. But most of all, stay out of my way."

With that said, he got up to leave. The King tried to activate the security enchantments on the seat, but Harry had been analyzing them using his Arcane Hearing while he was monologuing and negated them instantly by sending in a discreet inverse pulse of magic to temporarily destabilize the chair's magic.

Harry raised an eyebrow at the King, righted his fedora, and turned towards the door to leave.

However, the stone door was still closed, so, Harry focused on its song. He found the connection between it and the mask and saw that it could be manipulated to open it, by spoofing one of theirs. Choosing to add insult to injury, Harry decided to use the king's mask and spoofed the connection into sending a pulse to open the door. With a wave of his wand, the stone door opened, and Harry stepped out of the room, ignoring the baffling expression on the animated masks held.

With that done, he opened the hidden entrance near the ritual rooms and walked up to the common room. He smiled when he noticed that Daphne was sitting on his spot, reading the book he had gotten her for Christmas.

The moment she noticed his arrival, her concentrated face turned into a giant beam, and she spoke up, "Good morning, Harry."

"Good morning, Daph. You're not usually up this early in the morning."

Daphne Greengrass was many things. She was intelligent, cultured, magically gifted, a bit cold to strangers, and had a wicked sense of humour that meshed well with Harry's own, but she was not a morning person.

The girl snorted, "Yeah, I know I can be a bit grouchy in the morning."

"Grouchy? You froze Blaise's bits one day because he tried to wake you up after you fell asleep in the common room. Why your mother taught you a curse like that, I have no idea."

The Greengrass scion huffed, "I'll have you know, it's a very useful curse. It has been passed down from mother to daughter for centuries. But in this case, I'm up early because I wanted to ask you about something."

"Sure, what is it?"

"Were you serious about the red bean, blue bean thing? Because Tracy and Blaise thought it was a joke or something and that it was just an elaborate way to get us to stop asking questions."

Harry gave the girl a smile, "Yes, I was serious about that."

She handed Harry a familiar red bean, "Then I want to help. You've always done things by yourself like you're an island in the middle of the ocean. But I can tell you're lonely. I guess, I'm saying, that I don't want to leave you alone anymore."

"Are you sure about this? Because there's no going back…"

"Yes, Harry. I choose the red pill."



AN: So, this was essentially an introduction to the Court. I know it might seem somewhat random now, but it will be a pretty big thing later.



Chapter 112: The Wolf of Hogsmeade

18 January 1993, Hogwarts

The days following Daphne's decision to involve herself fully in Harry's life were awkward. After the girl's proclamation, he just told her to give him some time to put things together and that he would share what he could with her.

The issue was that the Potter scion was hesitant when it came to how much he wanted to share. Harry's personal magical training could technically be classified as family magic, so he was completely entitled to keep it to himself. But that felt wrong for some reason, to keep so much from her when she had chosen to commit to their friendship.

Honestly, Harry wasn't going to teach her anything from his family crest, so magical circles were off the table, and he certainly wasn't going to share the existence of his Arcane Hearing. But teaching the Greengrass scion his personal spells, or the magic that he had learnt from the library and from experimentations was his prerogative and made sense for her to learn as much as possible if she was going to be his partner.

And that was what it was all about. Daphne was going to be his partner, and in a way, that added a vulnerability in Harry's life. For one, she had failed his Legilimency test. She had never been trained in the mind arts outside of a few meditation exercises that her father had taught her, and the protection that her family crest would only activate on her thirteenth birthday when it's fully manifested, which thankfully was a couple of months away.

Harry couldn't teach her anything adequate enough to shield her mind before the crest would be able to protect it either way. So, outside of training her in magic, there were very few things that Harry could do.

Luckily, using Legilimency on Luna was a recipe for a headache. The way she witnessed the world was just so alien that it was hard for a normal mind to interpret her thoughts. Harry was more than willing to share a little more with her especially when it concerned the Chamber of Secrets, since that involved her personally. Unfortunately, Daphne just didn't have that advantage.

After a few days, Harry caved and told Daphne an abridged version of the situation of the chamber and the girl was shaken about it. He still remembered the conversation they had a few days prior.

[--]

(Flashback)

After a few days of deliberation, Harry invited Daphne for a conversation that the blonde was obviously looking forward to. They met in the common room and Harry motioned her to follow him. He definitely did not want to have this conversation in the common room now that he knew that the Court of Slytherin was constantly listening in. The two young Slytherins walked in silence until they found themselves on the seventh floor, right in front of the entrance to the Room of Requirements.

As Harry walked back and forth for the entrance to reveal, Daphne had a worried look on her face, as if the Potter scion was insane all this time, but she had visibly relaxed when he gave her a charming grin, and gaped when the entrance revealed itself, "What is this place?"

"This, Daphne Greengrass, is the Room of Requirements. This room is a marvel of magic that turns into whatever you speak of mentally when you walk back and forth to reveal the entrance. Right now, I wished for a replica of our common room, so that's what we got. This is the place that I use to practice magic. Whenever I'm not hanging out with you, I'm probably here."

As he had said, the Room had taken the form of a deserted Slytherin common room. Daphne gave him an awed look, "How does it work?"

"I have no idea," Harry confessed, "To be honest, I think it's a mixture of variable expansion charms, illusion magic, some conjuration, and some kind of mind magic to pick up the intent of the user. But that's not why I brought you here. You said that you want to be all in. Well, this is me giving you the white card. Ask me whatever you want. If there's something I'm uncomfortable sharing, I'll just say so, but I will not lie to you."

"Well, let's start with the obvious. What do you know about the chamber of secrets?"

(Flashback End)

[--]
It was surprisingly cathartic to tell someone about how worried he really was about the whole thing with the Chamber. His and Luna's partnership had started because neither of them had a choice in the matter. Oh, they were friends, but the entire relationship started as an alliance to stop Tom. Daphne was someone who earned Harry's trust. She wasn't forced to stay with him, but she chose to do so, and that made an immense difference when Harry decided to share even a fraction of his knowledge with her.

It was a big step on Harry's part. There was this intimacy at showing her a part of his soul, a part of his world that she was previously ignorant of. For some reason, he was afraid as well from the way she reacted, but all things considered, she had dealt with her surprise well enough.

Harry had told her about him detecting a diary as a very dark and dangerous object in the school, that he made a small trap to find the purpose of whoever it possessed, and that he thought that Lockhart might have been involved because of his sudden change in personality, but that he was wrong. He told her about his game of shadows with the Heir, of losing his encounters with the heir until he got desperate and successfully figured out that Luna was the one being possessed. That they had fought, and he had won, setting his enemy back a few months, but that the heir had hidden the diary, that the attacks would continue again. He told her that he figured out what the monster was quickly enough but that it was Longbottom using Parselmouth that cemented that clue. He confessed to creating goggles that should protect against the Basilisk's glare, but that he hadn't tested it. All this time, the Greengrass scion had remained supportive and impassive, that was until he told her that the heir of Slytherin was Tom Riddle, a sixteen-year-old version of Lord Voldemort.

Yeah, the girl had freaked out there. The Dark Lord really made himself into a figure of fear in this country. It was merited, of course, since the man was a psychopath who wanted nothing more than to see the world burn and rule over the ashes. The monster was unpredictable, and unstable, and could honestly wipe out an entire family line on a whim.

But his damage paled in front of what Grindelwald had done. Voldemort had terrified a nation, but Grindelwald had divided the entire magical world on an issue that they didn't even know they had. When Grindelwald walked a battlefield, all that remained was ash and death. The duels between Dumbledore and Voldemort were short, which made sense considering the guerilla attacks that the heir of Slytherin assigned. Lord Voldemort attacked people in their homes, and overwhelmed them quickly, before getting away and leaving only his cursed Dark Mark. However, Grindelwald, the real Dark Lord, just faced entire legions of opponents head-on and came out the victor without issues. In the battles between him and Dumbledore, no one got involved, because that would spell certain deaths. Voldemort thrived on fear, which was so engrained in everyone's mind that it passed down to the next generation. He was the boogeyman who could attack at any time for any reason, while Grindelwald thrived on his ideology of creating a new world for the greater good.

So, the bottom line was, the moment Harry told her that he was fighting a younger version of Lord Voldemort, the girl started trembling in fear, with tears in her eyes, as if Harry was fighting to his doom. Honestly, Tom Riddle wasn't that big of a deal compared to the fucking Basilisk. It was funny how the idea of fighting a weapon of mass destruction was more appealing to Daphne than just duelling a teenager with a prodigal magical talent.

It took the girl a few days to calm down before she finally decided to go back to Harry and speak about their plans. At this time, Harry started to build a new pair of goggles for Daphne. If she was going to get involved with the mess concerning the Basilisk, then it was only right that she be protected adequately.

Of course, when the Greengrass scion realized that Harry couldn't do anything about the issue until Riddle resurfaced and the attacks started again, she almost had another breakdown. Of course, Harry didn't tell her about the Colt. He wasn't going to tell anyone about the weapon. It was his ace, and he wasn't going to risk someone stealing it or trying to use it for a useless reason. The Colt was insurance if things went to shit, and Harry wouldn't use a bullet unless he was forced to do it, because he felt deep down that he was never going to replicate this feat again. He couldn't explain it, only that he could feel deep down that making more bullets or another gun would be out of his hands.

This brought them to the current situation, where they were both in a classroom on the third floor. The Greengrass scion gave him a wary look, "Are you sure about this?"

Harry rolled his eyes, "Of course, I am. I'm just sneaking out of the castle and meeting someone at Hogsmeade. The Weasley Twins do it all the time."

"Fine, but don't come to me and whine when you get caught. I don't think that Snape would be understanding if your only justification is that you 'had business in Hogsmeade'."

"But that's the truth! He should be appreciative of my ambition, not try to stifle it" Harry protested with a teasing smile on his face.

"Dork," Daphne muttered back.

The Potter scion snorted and put on his invisibility cloak, "Wish me luck!"

He turned and left towards the statute of the one-eyes witch, tapping it with his wand while muttering, "Dissendium!"

The statue creaked to the side, revealing a narrow passage, and he slipped inside. The tunnel was dank and musty, and the air was thick with an earthy aroma. Torches lined the uneven walls, casting flickering shadows that seemed to come to life with every step Harry took. Cobwebs brushed against his face, remnants of the many years that the passage had gone unnoticed, but there were obvious signs of someone having cut up a path forward, it was probably the Weasley twins.

The tunnel twisted and turned, leading him deeper beneath the castle. He walked for what felt like hours but after a quick 'Tempus' he realized was just thirty minutes. The passage began to rise. Panting, Harry sped up to find himself at the foot of some worn stone steps, which rose out of sight above him. Careful not to make any noise, Harry began to climb.

He really needed to exercise more.

Finally, the stairs seemed to end, revealing a trapdoor above the Potter scion, which he opened very slowly. He found himself in a cellar, which was full of wooden crates and boxes. Harry climbed out of the trapdoor and crept slowly toward the wooden staircase that led upstairs.

He had never been to Honeydukes, but it smelled wonderful. Still, he had a meeting to get into. Harry exited the cellar, emerging onto the familiar cobbled streets of Hogsmeade. The village was quiet, the buildings bathed in the silver light of the moon.

The Potter scion walked towards the location of the Three Broomsticks. This was technically his first time in the village, and it was a shame that he was coming here for Business and not pleasure.

The bell above the pub's door jingled softly as Harry stepped inside, greeted by the cosy atmosphere, the chatter of patrons, and the crackling fire. Harry slowly surveilled the room and found his target. It was a somewhat young man, probably in his late twenties. He looked unassuming from afar, with his brown hair and brown eyes.

Harry slowly walked forward and sat at his table. The man protested, "I'm sorry, but I'm waiting for someone."

"Yes, I know. I'm the one you're waiting for, Mr. Smythe. My name is Harry Potter, and I'm the potential investor in your company."

"You? But you're so young." The man protested.

"Yes, I am. But gold is gold, and we wouldn't be breaking any laws. Now, I don't believe in idle chatter, so let's get right to business. Tell me why I should invest in your broom. Tell me why I should invest in your Firebolt."
 
Chapter 113 & 114: Deal With the Devil & Bloody Valentine
Chapter 113: Deal With the Devil

18 January 1993, Hogsmeade

"Well, it's far above and beyond any other broom on the market. I guarantee you won't find any broom that's anywhere as fast or as manoeuvrable anywhere in the world," the man stated.

Harry snorted, "We both know that's not true, is it? Racing brooms are a lot faster and very manoeuvrable. The French and the Italians have that market cornered and I don't think that anything you can do that would stop that."

"Yes, but those brooms are hideously expensive. There's barely any wood in them at all. It's all practically made up of alchemically treated metals which costs a fortune. A single mediocre racing broom is even more expensive than an entire Quidditch team's state-of-the-art brooms ten times over. And they even wouldn't work well in Quidditch; while racing brooms have impressive top speeds, they don't have the acceleration that Quidditch players need. If you think about it, Quidditch players don't really maintain high speeds, they just need to be manoeuvrable and be able to accelerate very quickly."

The Potter scion smiled, "Well said. Now when you're talking to a potential investor, please make sure that you're very objective with every fact. You're claiming that this will be the best Quidditch broom in the market. The question now, is why?"

The man shrugged, "It's the efficiency of it that's impressive. Do you know how racing brooms work, Mr. Potter?"

"I have an idea. The enchantments on the brooms act more like buffers that channel a user's magic like a wand to work the magic. It's why Quidditch players get exhausted while flying."

The broom maker nodded, "Yeah. The problem with Quidditch is that games could last very long, so the ICW department of sports and games made sure that brooms wouldn't really magically exhaust a player to unconsciousness or death. All Quidditch brooms have a certain charm designed by the association that limits the input of magic. Without that charm, it's more than easy to get a broom to move faster than the speed of sound. You just needed a rider with very large magical reserves or with enough control to not waste any magic, and the enchantment would work. Other broom manufacturers have been tinkering with the shape of the brooms, certain anti-turbulence charms, playing around with air resistance charms, stabilization charms and things like that. They even resorted to muggle means, like using actual aerodynamic features, to make sure that as much of the magic allowed was used to power the acceleration and manoeuvrability enchantments. What I did, was discover a way to make sure the magic is used more efficiently anyway, so I could leave more than enough of it to power the stability and steering mechanisms to make the flight as smooth and as responsive as possible while leaving room for a sizeable increase in acceleration and with my custom variable air resistance charm, a much higher top speed. That's what makes my broom the best one on the market, Mr. Potter."

The man took a deep breath in the end and Harry suppressed the urge to smile. He hated to admit it, but he was impressed by Terrence Smythe. The broom maker was obviously very passionate about the subject, but it was nice to see someone using a different way of going about a problem. He was a half-blood who pretty much chose to start his own company despite the market being pretty much saturated with new versions of brooms every year. He took a few years off the study physics at a muggle university, just to improve his craft. It was a common thing when it came to guilds, but for someone to do it on his own was a testament to his dedication.

But what pleased Harry the most was the fact that the man didn't take the easy way out. He could have made a decent broom that just had a couple of upgrades and presented it to Nimbus or some other broom-making company as a job interview, and he would have gotten in easily. Just look at Nimbus who just adjusted the design and adjusted the wind resistance enchantments a bit on the Nimbus 2000, and released the Nimbus 2001, which really put experienced players off who often gauged their speed using the wind resistance on their faces. Harry had asked Flint permission to fly one of them after practice, and it was honestly awkward to fly. You could probably get used to it, but the learning curve would be very steep indeed.

Terrence Smythe had created something new. Alas, innovation was only half the race. The man was, of course, not willing to let him on his secrets, which was smart, but now came the big question, "Alright, then why are you here?"

The broommaker looked perplexed for a second before replying, "I don't follow. You're the one who arranged the meeting…"

"Look, if what you're saying about your broom is correct, then you should have been set for life. You would have gone to one of the distributors, sold your design or just asked them to invest in it. Trust me, they would have been all over this. You should have been batting away investments left and right with a stick. Now, if that was the case and someone randomly offered to invest, you would just ignore them. But you didn't. You came to this meeting, hoping to secure an investor, and I would like to know why no one else tried to grab you up."

The man looked like he was sweating and just took a deep breath, "The problem was the production cost. The moment I said how much it costs for every single one to be manufactured, they just clammed up and did their best to kick me out."

"And how much does a single broom cost?"

"Around five hundred galleons in materials. And it takes about a full day of work for me to do it."

Harry frowned, "And how much does a Nimbus 2000 cost in terms of materials?"

"Around fifty galleons, I guess. I could probably enchant a similar broom in an hour or so. The total production cost should be around a hundred galleons."

And finally, Harry understood what was going on, "So, you're telling me that you went to all these companies to use as distributors, to sell them your designs so that your company get a small profit margin but was pretty much laughed out of your proposals. You currently have no revenue stream and no gold reserves to even make a second broom."

The man looked down and nodded, "I know things aren't going well. I just don't understand why they didn't accept my offer…"

Well, that sets it. The man is a brilliant inventor but an idiot businessman.

Harry wasn't some kind of business prodigy, in fact, he didn't really care about the financial side of things, but that didn't mean that he didn't read a few books while he was bored, "Oh, it's the profit margin. Assuming that you work ten hours a day, a single person would be able to make ten Nimbus 2000 brooms, which would sell with around 250 Galleons of profit each, that's around 2500 Galleons of profit for the company, outside of the salaries, that is. A single one of your Firebolts could be made in a day by a single worker. So, to get the same profit margins, any distributor would need to sell every broom for over three thousand galleons, which is honestly an obscene price for a broom. That's not even mentioning the time and gold needed to train the workers to make your new brooms. It's just not worth it on what is essentially a gamble. Your broom being better doesn't mean that it's going to sell well enough for the price, which means that they'll need to drop it, which is just unprofitable. Here, show me the broom for a second."

The man who was gaping at Harry for a good minute opened his briefcase and gave him the broom. It was obviously a prototype; it didn't have any of the fancy decoration and designs that quidditch brooms often had, but it was well made. The handle was made up of mahogany and a little silver that coursed through the wood, glinting like quicksilver beneath the surface. There were runes on them, which were obviously absent in production models.

The bristles were a mix of red pine and some kind of golden metal that Harry recognized as Orichalcum from his own experimentation. The body was simple, with a sleek long birch wood with hundreds of runes glowing on it.

The moment Harry touched her and spread his Arcane Hearing; he knew that it was something special. There were a few secrecy charms, but they were never designed to protect from something like Harry's skill.

The Potter scion murmured to himself while examining the piece of art in his hands, "Interesting. Very interesting indeed. You enchanted dozens of twigs separately and combined them using Alchemy into a single body, with hundreds of veins made up of Orichalcum just to transfer the magic. You basically took inspiration from the human body and created veins to efficiently move the magic around. But it feels odd, I don't think it's Orichalcum, maybe some kind of magical metal, I'm not entirely sure."

"It's Runesteel," the man gaping at his deductions, "It's cheaper than the Orichalcum and I could use it as a core. It's not as efficient but it's far better than the competition."

I nodded, "I remember. It's some kind of metal infused with runes, isn't it? I'll look into it later. But the way you built the handle with the core being a diamond that you transmuted yourself, I assume, you use it to store magic when it's not being used. It's not as effective as using a naturally created gem, but I don't think any other broom uses something like this to store magic, they just rely on the wood to do it. No wonder it's so expensive. Oh, I see now, you used the veins in the body of the broom to not only transfer the magic to the enchantments but to also act as a secondary nerve network to transmit the information that the player gives. It's very fast and the broom will act like its rider's extended limb. Holy shit, you added a self-learning magical algorithm that would fine-tune itself on the rider, which would estimate a player's movement by his past decisions and adapt to it which would make the reactions even faster. And the enchantments on the bristles to accelerate and stabilize the broom are exemplary. Oh, that breaking mechanism is brilliant. You didn't mention that did you?"

The man was still stupefied by Harry's guesses, "How in Merlin's name did you figure it out?"

"It's not important how I figured it out," the Potter scion interjected, "I now see what the problem is…"

"And what is it?"

"That's very easy, you're targeting the wrong audience. You're treating broom making as an art and I can see how you would with the masterpiece you created. But the other companies aren't like that; they treat it like a business and the truth is that for a broom like that, there just isn't a good market for it. Here's the thing, outside of spoilt children and rich Quidditch enthusiasts, your main buyers will have to be professional teams. You should have never gone to other companies."

"Then who would be making my brooms then?" Smythe asked.

"Look, I don't think you realized what you've done. Your business isn't making brooms, it's your idea and the improvements you made. And an idea will only take you so far. What you need to do is turn Firebolt into a brand, to market it as 'the broom' that professional Quidditch players use. It certainly seems good enough for it. No matter what you think, your brooms are not meant for the common wizard and witch to fly, but you can make it something that's a sign of luxury, of importance, but targeted towards younger wizards and witches, who are obsessed with Quidditch."

"And how am I supposed to do that?"

Harry let out a large grin, "Make seven brooms and loan them out to a professional league team for a few games. The top teams will probably not bother answering you, but a team at the bottom of the leaderboard, and that has nothing to lose will accept your offer. If your brooms offer such a large advantage, they should be winning. Players will talk to each other, managers to each other, and slowly, you'll start selling brooms. You'll be getting orders left and right. Make sure to number each broom, this way they're more like collectables than products, and if things grow from there, you should be contacted by one of the big companies."

"And I accept their offer then?"

"Of course not," Harry snorted, "You ignore them completely. If your brooms are this superior, everyone needing the advantage will order one and with the World Cup around the corner, you'll be practically the unofficial sponsor of the World Cup. The important thing is that you enchant every broom yourself like it's a point of pride. However, the moment the World Cup starts, you sell the entire company to the highest bidder."

"I don't understand. Why would I do that?"

"How long do you think it would take for a company like Nimbus to reverse engineer your broom? Two, three years, I'm guessing, if you use better concealment enchantments. Assuming the time to train people to make their substitute brooms is around an extra year, you'll be completely out of business in five years when they undercut the prices. Your value as a company will be the highest during the World Cup. If you sell then, you won't be just selling your broom, but the Firebolt name which will be on everyone's mind. You could add a stipulation for you to head any future developments and they will be bending themselves in front of you just to have a taste of your profits. You have a small window to profit as much as possible with your product and you need to capitalize on that."

The man looked pensive for a second, "This could work, but I don't have the capital to build seven brooms from scratch."

"That's where I come in. I'm willing to give you five thousand galleons in exchange for forty per cent of your company. That should get things started easily enough."

"Five thousand?" the man exclaimed, "Are you mad? This is far too low for forty per cent."

Harry grinned, "Yes, but that's the offer I'm willing to give."

"Well, I refuse!"

"That would be unwise, Mr. Smythe. You see, you're on your last leg and you know it. Now, I'm offering you a paltry sum, but in return, I will not involve myself in the workings of the company. Other investors might be willing to help you, but I can almost guarantee that they'll want control over your company, and your baby. They will make you change things that you won't agree with, but you'll have no choice but to do it. However, I'm like you, I like the art of it, the beauty of your broom. And I'm also someone who figured out how it really works, and I appreciate the magic involved."

The man blanched when he recognized the implied threat. He had lost any bargaining power the moment he gave Harry access to the broom for more than a minute. The Potter scion could technically create his own copy and since he already had the capital necessary to start the plan, he would be able to steal Smythe's invention.

Harry had a grin not too dissimilar to that of a fox when he asked, "So, do we have a deal, Mr. Smythe?"



Chapter 114: Bloody Valentine

14 February 1993, Hogwarts

Harry had been ready to go down the stairs, to the common room, like every Sunday morning,

It had been almost a month since his meeting in Hogsmeade and finally, everything went through. The paperwork needed to get Harry certified legally as an investor in the Firebolt took a couple of weeks to process, and it took an additional week for Terrence Smythe to build the seven brooms. Finally, after a little negotiation, the Chudley Cannons accepted experimenting with the new brooms for a few matches in the season. Hopefully, the brooms would help stop the record-breaking losing streak that they currently held.

Yeah, Harry found it odd that no one batted an eyelash when he registered the paperwork for his ownership, but since there was a standard contract of the purchase and a copy of the Gringotts transaction was sent to the ministry, no one seemed to care. At no point was there anyone asking for his age. It was surprisingly straightforward, especially since property worked weirdly in the wizarding world.

That's the thing, for a property to be bought or sold, it's not the actual person who owns it, but the holder of the vault used to buy it. It was an efficient way for the ministry to track down the owner of any property without bothering with the paperwork. Because technically speaking, if someone stole a property or committed fraud, they would need to fool the bank and Gringotts are not merciful when it comes to thieves.

Every single wizard or witch that attends Hogwarts has a monetary vault that's opened just for them. As part of an agreement between the school and the Goblin Nation, these vaults do not require any fees until their owners graduate. Even the scions of rich families get a vault if they specifically don't have one in their name. In Harry's case, since he was the last Potter, the bank didn't need to create a new account for him.

It was actually pretty efficient. In a way, instead of having an identification number, the ministry could use Gringotts' vault numbers. Additionally, large-scale transactions using physical gold were rare and usually done off the table, meaning that whatever you're buying is not something that you want the ministry to know about. You can, of course, get a signed proof of purchase and use it to file the paperwork, but usually, going through Gringotts was just easier for everyone.

But yeah, hopefully, everything would go fine with Firebolt, and Harry would start refilling the Potter vault after the mess that his father made of it. He invested five thousand galleons into what was essentially a sinking company with only the knowledge from the stories of his past life as a reference. He only hoped it would end up working.

The issue wasn't even the broom, it was Smythe's ability to market his product. The broom was an amazing artefact, but Harry didn't have the capital to market it on a large scale so he employed a method that a certain energy drink used to market their products in the early days when they didn't have enough money for a large-scale advertising campaign.

The trick was to subtly incorporate it into athletes' routines, in Harry's case it was making the broom show how much better the team had gotten with the new brooms. Oh, they'll probably be shit, but a substantial increase in performance, and maybe even a winning streak, and the fact that the brooms looked unique, would generate organic buzz and word-of-mouth marketing, which wouldn't cost them a single galleon.

It was a dirty trick, and the fact that Harry subtly threatened the broom maker by figuring out how his invention worked didn't help ease his conscience. Alas, in the long run, they would both benefit from it. For the moment, he would trust Smythe to follow the plan he had outlined to him.

So, as promised, the Potter scion decided to not get involved and came back to the main issue of Riddle's inevitable return. So far, Harry only focused on his ice magic, but he did distract himself by reading about spacial expansion charms in his downtime to enchant his hat. It was a nice calm project that was completely independent from the whole Chamber of Secrets thing, and that was just calming. The Potter scion had dedicated almost his entire year to dealing with the chamber and it was getting tiring.

When he got down, he was met with Daphne, who brightened when she saw him, "Good morning, Harry. Did you have a good night's sleep?"

He nodded, "What about you?"

"Great, but Tracy wouldn't get up early on a Sunday. Where's Blaise?"

Harry shrugged, "It didn't seem fair to wake him up, to be honest. It's a Sunday, Daphne. You shouldn't wake them up just because you want to have breakfast with them."

"Fine, it's just that keeping things from them for so long has been hard."

"You're the one who picked the red pill, and they didn't. They haven't answered my decision, so I'm assuming that they don't want to be involved, and I will respect that."

And Harry was serious about that. He wasn't going to involve them in his mess unless they specifically asked him to do it. Yeah, there was some tension because it was obvious that Daphne knew something that they didn't, and they definitely noticed the Greengrass scion disappearing with Harry for hours. Yeah, the whole thing weighed on Daphne's conscience, and she wanted nothing more than to tell them. Fortunately, she couldn't take out her anger at him since he did offer them a chance and a standing offer. They just didn't take it.

"Let's just get some breakfast and meet up with Luna for our lessons," the Greengrass scion grumbled.

Yeah, he started giving her and Luna lessons to protect themselves. It wasn't anything fancy, but a few curses here and there and a couple of charms that would hide them or shield them would come a long way. Harry was focused primarily on ice spells since extremely low temperatures limited the mobility and reactions of snakes, even magical ones.

It was shown in the casualty rates of the only Basilisk hunt that happened in a cold environment. Apparently, some Ice elemental centuries back went insane and tried to start a new ice age. She ended up freezing up half of Europe in what seemed like the worst winter ever recorded. Well, it turned out that the large shift in temperate had woken a Basilisk in Greece, enough for it to try to find a new nest warmer. It was hunted down and killed in less than a week and the hunting party only came out with a single death and a few petrifications.

Apparently, the cold had weakened the beast immensely, enough that its glare was very underpowered and that its movement was stiff. The only casualty happened because one of them was bitten, not because of the glare.

So, yeah, it was an advantage that few knew of, and Harry was very interested in using it.

Harry's thoughts were interrupted by Daphne's voice, "What in Merlin's name is this monstrosity?"

Harry looked up and saw the Great Hall, well, what should have been the Great Hall. For a fraction of a second, Harry thought that he was wrong room was designed by a toddler who was obsessed with the colour pink.

The room was completely unrecognizable. Gone were the rich and regal tones that usually adorned the castle walls. In their place was a blinding, almost fluorescent, pinkish hue that practically assaulted his senses. The walls themselves seemed to blush, covered in an indecent quantity of pink flowers that clashed horribly with the stone architecture.

As Harry took in the scene, he felt like he had stumbled into the imagination of a seven-year-old girl who had an inexplicable obsession with the colour pink. He blinked, half-expecting the entire spectacle to disappear in a puff of logic, but it remained stubbornly, garishly real.

It was then that Harry remembered the date and murmured, "I think it's Valentine's Day."

The Great Hall was transformed into a bizarre and gaudy carnival of affection. The candles that usually cast a warm glow on the students and their meals had been replaced by thousands of hearts. They floated in the air, flickering with a silvery-pink light that was both mesmerizing and headache-inducing. There were hearts of all kinds—pink hearts, silver and pink hearts, red and pink hearts, and even some inexplicably gold-pink hearts. They bobbed and weaved in the air as if performing a choreographed dance.

The tables were adorned with tablecloths that were, you guessed it, pink. Heart-shaped dishes held a rather excessive assortment of pink treats, from candies to pastries. Harry half-expected his dinner to start oozing pink syrup at any moment.

As Harry tried to make sense of the spectacle, he caught sight of the paintings that adorned the walls. Normally serene and aloof, the portraits had been swept up in the pink craze. Their frames were circled with hearts as if someone had gone on a heart-sticking spree with reckless abandon. Miniature angels, sporting hues of pink and gold, fluttered around the paintings, their cherubic faces attempting to serenade the inhabitants of the hall with some truly horrifying love songs.

He couldn't help but wonder who had orchestrated this explosion of pink. It was as if Cupid had gone on a caffeine-fueled rampage with a rainbow palette. Of course, the architect of this abomination was smiling brilliantly with flashy ink robes that genuinely hurt Harry's eyes.

With that realized, he looked at his blonde companion and spoke up, "Yeah, we're out of here."

He looked up and noticed that Luna was sitting at the Ravenclaw table. He motioned her to come over and she nodded.

The three of them slowly walked up to the seventh floor in silence, trying to bleach the past few memories from their brain, something that was unfortunately very hard to do. Hopefully, training would distract them.

A couple of hours later, it obviously didn't. Even while Harry was animating a giant Snake construct made of ice, his mind still looked back at the abomination he saw at the Great Hall.

Daphne held up her hand in shielding charm, dodging the snake's charge, alas the charm exploded into a shockwave when it was shattered. It was a spell of Harry's own creation that he named "Protego Pulsum."

It took a little time to teach Daphne the Protego charm, which Harry thought was completely worth it since it was a very useful spell. Still, it was a very notable achievement and a testament to Daphne's talent that she managed to learn it in less than a month. Now, they were covering the variants of the charm, like adding layers or in this case, a concussive force when it breaks.

The giant snake's head snapped backwards, only to be met with a Flipendo from Luna. Just as Harry was manipulating the ice to heal the damage to the construct, he froze and the world around him disappeared.

Instead, there were flashes of a giant snake with yellow eyes, a familiar corridor near the Astronomy tower, and a screaming girl with a blue tie.

The Room of Requirements came back into view and the ice snake fell crashing into a thousand pieces, but Harry didn't seem to care, instead being horrified by what he had just seen.

"Are you alright, Harry? What happened?" Daphne asked.

"I just had a vision. He's back. Riddle started to attack again. I think it was a Ravenclaw, I'm not sure, to be honest. It was pretty fast."

Harry practically ran towards the exit, the two girls following behind him, that is until he found himself near the corridor he saw in his vision. He noticed that there was a small crowd forming and he pushed his way forward, only to see the familiar form of Penelope Clearwater frozen with a fearful expression on her face. Yeah, this was the girl he had just seen.

However, something was different. Near the wall next to her something weird. It was a smiling face, drawn in blood, and Harry paled. This was a message aimed at him.

"What do you think it means," Daphne asked.

"Oh, that's simple. It means that it is time for us to resume our game."

Talk about a bloody Valentine.
 
Chapter 115 & 116: Dance of Lions & Of Earths and Stars
Chapter 115: Dance of Lions

7 March 1993, Hogwarts

The last few months were the worst ones Neville Longbottom ever experienced ever since he arrived at Hogwarts. It wasn't just the fact that his standing in the school was ruined, it was mainly because everyone kept looking at him with suspicion and sometimes even fear in their eyes, ever since he was revealed as a Parselmouth. He was the main suspect, and now that the attacks started once more, just a month after the Boy Who Lived had returned to the castle from his suspensions, things were starting to get bleak when it came to Neville proving his innocence.

Firsties just ran away from him now, and muggleborns stopped meeting his eyes, in fear of being targeted next. The professors kept looking at him like he was a monster, and even Ron's brother, Percy, had anger in his eyes whenever they spoke to him.

And of course, home wasn't much better. Neville's grandmother had tanned his hide and gave him a disappointed look that was just worse than her yelling. Apparently, using an illegal potion to break into a foreign common room, by impersonating other scions of old families, was not only stupid but also very short-sighted.

Fine, he would admit that the Polyjuice thing was a mistake. It would have been a great story if it had worked, but that's the thing, it didn't.

Neville didn't know if the potion was faulty or something, but the fact that its effects wore off early at the same moment was very suspicious. It was probably some kind of defensive magic in the common room that would reveal intruders, but for some reason, it only worked as they got out. It was the only way to explain this. They had done the whole thing perfectly. Even Potter, whom Neville would admit only to himself that he is very intelligent, had been fooled and had confessed to pretty serious information.

Information that will help prove Neville's innocence. The boy who lived would need to give his estranged godbrother a gift of some sort, for unknowingly helping him. At least, he wasn't a prick to Neville anymore.

Honestly, it was jarring to see how differently Slytherins behaved in their common room. They had rules, they weren't all racist bigots that thought that Muggleborns were lesser. Only a few like Malfoy were the loudest, but when he looked back at it, he couldn't remember any other Slytherin outside his group saying stuff like that. However, the fact that someone contacted his mother for what he said was hilarious.

However, the petrification of Penelope Clearwater sent shockwaves through the schools, and not just for the petrification itself. Everyone had stopped thinking about the Chamber of Secrets since there hadn't been an attack for months. Well, they were obviously wrong, and the heir of Slytherin had claimed another victim.

Needless to say, nearly everyone assumed that Neville was responsible, particularly after it came out that he had no alibi at the time of the attack on Clearwater. He was flying on one of the school brooms to clear his head. His grandmother might have confiscated his broom, and he might have been banned from Quidditch, but Neville still loved flying.

Furthermore, the female prefect had been seen giving the Longbottom scion a detention for going out after curfew. Neville was planning on visiting Hagrid, and well, he was caught pretty easily. But that was motive enough for him to petrify him for most people. The general theory was that Neville had petrified Filch for the detentions he had to spend after the whole taking a flying car to Hogwarts thing, and then when Dean Thomas realized what had happened or caught Neville somehow, he petrified him. And when he tried to sneak into the Slytherin common room to plant some evidence there, he was caught and suspended. Now that he was back, the boy who lived resumed his reign of terror.

Of course, that was nonsense, but Neville had to admit that there was a narrative there. Thank Merlin that the whole thing hadn't been brought into the media. This was enough 'evidence' for Rita Skeeter to crucify him in the Daily Prophet.

Neville's housemates started to harass him somewhat, a movement spearheaded by a few muggleborn upper years. Gilbert Smith was particularly vicious in his attacks and had even hexed the boy who lived in the back when he was alone. Worse, he was backed up by the rest of his year. Cormac McLaggen was Smith's friend and had taken to harass Neville whenever he could. It was a shame because they were pretty friendly the previous year. Unfortunately, his new status as the heir of Slytherin was more than enough to turn that comradery into a burning hatred. Honestly, he would rather one of them be petrified than Clearwater or Dean. Dean was his friend and while Clearwater was a no-fun hard ass, she didn't deserve what happened to her.

Thankfully, the Mandrakes had almost matured and according to Professor Sprout, it would only take a month for the victims to wake up. Alas, Neville knew from the testimonies of the older students that they didn't remember their attacks, so he wouldn't be able to clear his name this way.

Anyway, Neville decided to not stay in the common room as much as possible while figuring out the whole heir thing. Plus, his housemates were very suspicious and occasionally hostile. He had holed himself in the Astronomy classroom, which wouldn't be used until late at night. He was sitting down across from Ron, playing chess.

Well, losing a game of chess is the more apt description, until he saw Hermione running in while yelling out, "I figured it out. I figured it out."

Neville looked at her with concern, "What are you talking about?"

"It was Hagrid. He's the one who was framed for opening the chamber of secrets."

"What?" he and Ron exclaimed at the same time.

Neville cleared his throat and asked, "Are you sure about that? We couldn't see any records of how the situation was resolved, just articles about the attack. Although, it is curious that nothing was written in the Prophet about the attacks, which is kinda unusual, now that I think about it."

The Golden trio spent weeks in the library trying to decipher the information that Potter released. They confirmed that the Chamber of Secrets was in fact opened fifty years back, and people were petrified. A student had died, but they didn't say who out of respect, and there was a brief article saying that an unnamed student was expelled and that the attacks stopped afterwards.

They couldn't even figure out what Slytherin's monster even was. Potter's clues about a long-lived snake capable of petrification were a little too vague. They couldn't really find anything about the subject. Hermione thought that it might be in the restricted section and they were all planning on tricking Lockhart into signing a permission slip to get a book there.

"Of course, I'm sure. I couldn't find a direct link to who was expelled, but I had a list of all the students in attendance when the Chamber was opened, and I got a list of the graduating roster for the next seven years. Only two students attended Hogwarts but didn't graduate, a muggleborn girl named Myrtle Warren and Rubeus Hagrid. Myrtle was probably the one who died since she's the muggleborn, so, that leaves Hagrid. He's the only one left."

"He never did say why he was expelled. And we can be sure that it can't be him; Dumbledore wouldn't have hired him in the school if it was him," Neville mused.

"Yeah, no wonder he never said anything," Ron exclaimed.

"Although, there was something else," Hermione started, "Someone got a Special Award for Services to the School in the year when the attacks occurred. I think he was a Slytherin named Tom Riddle."

"Oh, I remember him. I cleaned his badge in the trophy room for my detention at the start of the year. It was really dirty, so I had to polish it several times," the redhead said. He then looked pensive for a minute, "Do you think he might have done it and put it on Hagrid? It's a pretty Slytherin thing to do."

Hermione brightened, "That's actually a good idea."

"Why do you sound so surprised?" Ron grumbled back at her.

"Do you think we should go and ask Hagrid about it all? He might know something more about the attacks," Hermione asked.

"That'd be a cheerful visit," said Ron. "'Hello, Hagrid. Tell us, have you been setting anything mad and hairy loose in the castle lately?'"

In the end, they decided that they would not say anything to Hagrid unless there was another attack, or if they were really stuck. According to Potter, the man was framed, so bringing suspicions onto him was just being inconsiderate.

With that subject out of the way, Hermione started prattling on about choosing their electives for the next year. Apparently, they were forced to choose at least two new subjects out of the five choices given. Runes, Arithmancy, Divination, Muggle Studies, and Care of Magical creatures. It was a choice that Hermione was taking very seriously indeed.

Yeah, right. As if Neville had a choice. The Longbottom matriarch gave him a long letter outlining each of the electives.

Neville knew his grandmother enough to see the subtext underneath the nicely worded letter. Long story short, she would kill him if he didn't choose runes. It seemed kind of pointless to learn an entirely new language, but she still terrified the hell out of Neville, so that was that. She strongly advised him to take Arithmancy, but Neville was never good with numbers. If he didn't take arithmancy, then he would have to take three electives instead of two, which were divination – rumoured to be an easy O – and Care of Magical Creatures, which seemed kinda of necessary if he wanted to spend time with Hagrid without being accidentally maimed. Neville still had nightmares about the dragon the man hatched in his wooden hut. Muggle studies seemed kind of useless, to be honest. It just didn't seem like something he would ever use in his life. Seeing the future and taking care of magical animals seem a lot more interesting.

Hermione, for some reason, wanted to attend all five and Ron chose Care and Divination for the easy grades.

Anyway, the day ended with them splitting up. Hermione went to the library, Ron wanted to go back to the common room and take a nap, while Neville slowly walked towards the Quidditch pitch to fly for a bit. The school brooms were horrible, but they would do.

Of course, all things had to come to an end, when he heard a faint voice, "I smell blood…I SMELL BLOOD!"

He stiffened and instinctively followed the voice. It probably wasn't a good idea, especially if Potter of all people thought that the monster was terrifying, but he had to do something. He ran as fast as he could, the whispers of killing and hunger getting louder as he got closer until they became silent.

He looked around and saw nothing. This was a deserted wing in the castle. Practically no one went there. Neville had a couple of times when he was running from Filch. The Longbottom scion raised his wand, ready to defend himself against the monster, until he froze when he saw blood on the wall. It was another smiling face and Neville knew that a body was near it.

Still, grasping his wand he gasped when he realized who it was. It was the familiar form of Cormac McLaggen, lying on the ground, rigid and cold, a look of frozen shock on his face, his eyes standing blankly at the ceiling.

Holy shit! Did he do that? Neville did personally wish he was petrified a couple of hours back. What the hell? It didn't make any sense. Cormac was a pureblood. His father was a pretty known entity in the light faction at the ministry. He wasn't a muggleborn, so why was he attacked?

Neville's heart was doing a kind of drumroll against his ribs. He looked wildly up and down the deserted corridor and saw a line of spiders scuttling as fast as they could away from the body.

This was a deserted place in the castle. He could run, and no one would ever know he had been there. Cormac was an ass, yes, but he needed to tell a professor or something about him. Would anyone believe he hadn't had anything to do with this? After all, his confrontations with McLaggen in the last couple of weeks were public knowledge in the castle.

As he stood there, panicking, a door right next to him opened with a bang. Peeves the Poltergeist came shooting out.

"Why, it's little icky Longy Botty, what are you up to in this part of the …"

Peeves stopped, halfway through a midair somersault. Upside down, he spotted Cormac's body.

ATTACK! ATTACK! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES! NO ONE IS SAFE! LONGBOTTOM'S CAUGHT IN THE ACT! ATAAAAACK!"

It didn't take long for the professors to arrive alongside a large foray of curious students. Neville just stood there, transfixed, as Cormac was carried to the hospital wing by two junior professors. He saw Potter with a complicated look on his face as if he was trying to figure out a large puzzle. He was particularly staring at the face in the wall before shifting towards Longbottom.

As their eyes met, Neville felt like he was being seen through. It wasn't dissimilar to how it felt to stand next to Snape or Dumbledore. Neville only hoped the boy didn't also think he was guilty. He didn't know if it was a remnant of whatever familial bond, he subconsciously wished they had, but Potter was one of the few people who were smart enough to see through whatever was happening.

Alas, the boy left when he was shooed out by the transfiguration professor, leaving Neville alone with her.

"This way, Longbottom," she said.

"Professor," said Neville at once, "I swear I didn't -"

"This is out of my hands, Longbottom," said Professor McGonagall curtly.

They marched in silence towards what Neville realized was the headmaster's office. He only hoped he didn't get expelled this time. The headmaster was already pretty short with him ever since the whole Polyjuice incident.

Yeah, things didn't look good for Neville Longbottom.



Chapter 116: Of Earths and Stars

15 March 1993, Hogwarts

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was veiled in an unsettling fog, a reflection of the shrouded mystery that had consumed not only the minds of the residents of the castle but also of Harry Potter. Unlike the rest of the student body and the staff, the resurgence of the Heir of Slytherin was something that he had expected. However, the change in patterns was something that he didn't see coming. It had baffled even his admittedly sharp intellect, and his usual air of confidence was beginning to show cracks, replaced by visible frustration.

The castle's usually lively halls were now hushed with fear, as the once-safe haven became tainted by the sinister presence of the infamous Heir of Slytherin.

Currently, Harry Potter was staying in his trust Room of Requirements, which he had shaped into a comfortable living room. He was sitting in an armchair that was identical to his favourite one in the Slytherin common room. Next to him, Daphne was pacing around, while Luna was humming distractedly.

All of them were trying to figure out what Riddle's angle was. His change in patterns was baffling. It just didn't make sense. The first smiling face might be a message saying that he was back and not to forget about him, but the second petrification was such a break in the routine. Cormac McLaggen was a Pureblood, and from a very influential family as well. His father was very well known in the ministry, and that meant that the Wizengamot would start putting pressure on Dumbledore to investigate, something that the headmaster would probably protest heavily.

But also, it was the location of the petrification. One of the biggest reasons he was even doing this was to spread fear in the muggleborn population. He always chose a location that was pretty popular to release an unspoken message, 'I can get you wherever you are.'

However, McLaggen's petrification was in a part of the castle that no one ever ventured. Riddle obviously expected the petrification to occur there, since the blood drawing happened. Curiously, Longbottom was the one who found the body and from a preliminary Legilimency scan, the boy had foolishly followed the Basilisk's voice once more.

And that also posed an issue. How was Longbottom connected to all of this? Riddle would be curious about his future self's defeat, of course, but the attack on McLaggen was pretty much framing the boy since he was spearheading the harassment of the boy who lived.

The timing also didn't make sense. Considering that his attacks happened a month apart, it was ideal to keep this little reign of terror while leaving enough hope that he wouldn't continue. Yet, he was accelerating now, something that risked getting the ministry actively involved and the students observed even further.

Harry spent what seemed like hours trying to understand Riddle's motivations, "There's something I'm missing…"

Daphne spoke out loud, "What if it is Longbottom?"

The Potter scion gave her an incredulous look, "Didn't I tell you that a cursed diary is responsible for all of this?"

"No, I meant that Longbottom is the one being possessed. Maybe Riddle is using his subconscious to pick his target somehow."

Harry shook his head, "No, I used Legilimency on him. He wasn't the one who petrified McLaggen, he just followed the Basilisk's voice and found him."

"I'm just saying that it's suspicious, that's all."

"No, the bigger question would be why McLaggen was even in that corner of the castle when he was petrified and how did Riddle know about it and plan to have him petrified in that exact spot."

"Why don't you track him like you did before?" Daphne asked, "Luna told me you used something to scry his location. Can't you do that again?"

"I used something similar to the Diary to do it, a part of a whole. Plus, he figured out how I tracked him down, so he probably put up some protections. I took him by surprise the last time. I don't have that luxury now."

"Do you have at least a few ideas on why McLaggen was chosen? The guy is an ass, but he's hardly the ideal victim that Riddle would pick…"

Harry shook his head, "This was premeditated. The school has to send an owl to a student's guardian if he or she gets hurt. For muggleborns, since the school is technically foreign territory, the headmaster could choose to act as a guardian since they are considered to be orphans in the magical world, at least in terms of paperwork. So, technically this forced the headmaster to admit that something was wrong, especially since two attacks happened so quickly one after another."

"So, McLaggen Senior would have to know what happened to his son and he'd demand answers," Daphne continued.

"Yes, but he's also a known supporter of Dumbledore. A petrification wouldn't really be a big deal, but the headmaster would technically be forced to break his own embargo about the chamber. And that would mean that people outside the castle would have to talk, which explains the article."

Yeah, the infamous article that pretty much caused the headmaster to keep putting out one fire after another.

Hogwarts was Dumbledore's territory and he liked having its secrets remain in the castle. There was this large ward that pretty much caused people to not want to talk about anything unusual happening in the school. Harry had sensed it pressing down on him when he tried to send a letter to Arcturus Black that had information about the petrifications.

Other than a single no-name muggleborn being petrified in November and a squib caretaker sharing the same fate a month prior, people just started to forget about it. But now that the heir had returned, the ward could only do so much. The McLaggen attack was the stone that broke the camel's back, and students started to be afraid since the boy was a pureblood.

Fear would overwhelm the compulsion to keep things secret, and the fact that Dumbledore had to send a letter as well, the headmaster was currently under fire, which of course, meant that Rita Skeeter had to write an article about it, one that was currently on the front page of the Daily Prophet on the table in front of them.

MCLAGGEN SCION VICIOUSLY ATTACKED IN HOGWARTS!
BOY WHO LIVED IMPLICATED!
by Rita Skeeter


On the seventh of March 1993, Cormac McLaggen fell victim to a petrification spell within the supposed sanctum of safety, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The incident, far from being an isolated occurrence, has unveiled a dark series of events that has plagued the esteemed institution since the past October. It seems the illustrious halls of learning have not been impervious to a sinister force. McLaggen, a young and promising Gryffindor, is now the fourth casualty following students Dean Thomas, Penelope Clearwater, and even staff member Argus Filch.

The haunting undertone of these attacks becomes even more evident when one considers the chilling details. The initial assault carried with it an ominous message written in blood, hinting at the involvement of the 'Heir of Slytherin,' who allegedly opened the legendary 'Chamber of Secrets' to unleash terror upon unsuspecting victims. For the uninitiated, the Chamber is a mythical chamber attributed to Salazar Slytherin, said to harbour a fearsome creature tasked with purging the castle of those deemed unworthy. The veil of secrecy surrounding these assaults, as they remained concealed from the general public for months and escaped the notice of even the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, raises troubling questions about the transparency and efficacy of Hogwarts' leadership, especially Headmaster Albus Dumbledore.

However, this narrative is but a single thread woven into the intricate tapestry of these events. Among the prime suspects, Neville Longbottom, known as the renowned "Boy Who Lived," comes under scrutiny. Longbottom's connection to the Parseltongue ability came to light when he inadvertently employed this skill to command a snake to attack fellow student Draco Malfoy during a Dueling Club demonstration, under the supervision of the infamous Gilderoy Lockhart. The once-heroic Longbottom's reputation has been tarnished by an array of controversies throughout the current academic year, including employing a Flying Car to access the school, thereby flagrantly disregarding the International Statute of Secrecy. Furthermore, his involvement in a covert operation where he assumed the identities of prominent wizarding families' heirs to infiltrate the Slytherin common room and interrogate his peers has only heightened suspicions. The emergence of his Parseltongue proficiency only serves to further muddy the waters and provoke speculation regarding his true intentions.

Curiously, Headmaster Albus Dumbledore's silence regarding Longbottom's potential culpability casts a shadow over his reliability and impartiality. The revered leader's mere assurance that the victims would soon recover under the care of Potions Master Severus Snape and Master Herbologist Pomona Sprout does little to quell the growing unease among parents and guardians. Doubts now loom over Dumbledore's ability to ensure the security of his students.

As the castle navigates this period of uncertainty, one cannot ignore the uneasiness that shrouds the normally vibrant atmosphere of Hogwarts. It appears that even a place synonymous with magic and enlightenment is not immune to the creeping tendrils of darkness. As investigations continue and answers remain elusive, it becomes evident that the true nature of these events may be far more complex and disturbing than any could have fathomed.

Story continues on page 5.

Yeah, Rita Skeeter was a vicious woman indeed. Dumbledore had barely spent a single day inside the castle ever since it came out. There was a lot of chatter on whether or not he was the right person to take care of the next generation of wizards and witches in Britain. It wasn't enough to rattle Dumbledore from his position, but it was still damaging enough.

"Riddle might have wanted to kick Dumbledore out of the castle," Daphne proposed.

Harry shook his head, "We know that Riddle wants Dumbledore out of the castle, but even this wouldn't be enough for Malfoy to start a motion with the board of governors. You need an aggrieved parent to complain and McLaggen Senior is unlikely to do so since it would technically be political suicide and it's not that permanent; his son would be unpetrified in a couple of weeks… Oh!"

"What is it?"

"I'm thick. How could I not see it? He's not being meticulous. He didn't choose to change his schedule. He was forced to do it. McLaggen was petrified just two days after Professor Sprout announced that the Mandrakes would mature. He could try to sabotage them, but no one knows where she put them, and even then, they're probably under heavy wards since they can technically be used as deadly weapons. So, whatever Riddle's plan was, he had to accelerate it and whatever it is, he still needs the victims to stay petrified for some reason."

Daphne grinned, "I'm happy you solved it."

"Solved it? No, we got another clue. It'll be very helpful, but we still have a long way to go."

"No, we have a Quidditch game to get to. We both promised Tracy that we'd see the game with her and it's almost eleven."

"Do we have to? I'm so close. I can feel it." Harry whined.

"Of course, we do. We made a promise, remember? Tell you what, you don't have to leave with me. I need to return a few books to the library, and I'll meet you up there."

"Fine," Harry replied while rolling his eyes, "I'll be there."

The blonde nodded and left, leaving Harry and Luna alone.

"You still don't see it?" the young Ravenclaw started.

"See what?"

"Never mind," the girl muttered to herself.

Harry rolled his eyes and conjured an illusion of the castle. He knew that there had to be something he was missing with the locations. The amount of preparation and foresight meant that Riddle was paying very specific attention to the locations. There had to be some meaning.

Hogwarts was a very hard castle to have a map of. It was constantly moving around, and there were numerous spacial anomalies inside it. Huh, the petrifications occurred in places that never really shifted. It was always near something public, like the great hall and the hospital wing, that the castle just didn't shuffle around. Even McLaggen was petrified near one of the old, abandoned trophy room before it was moved around a century ago when a stray spell from two students duelling in the corridor shattered most of them. Both students were expelled, of course, but the trophy room was moved to a location in the castle that was more easily supervised.

Each attack occurred on a different floor. Harry decided to take every floor independently and make an illusion of it. Then, he marked the location of each petrification.

Luna perked up and commented, "What a pretty star…"

"What are you talking about?"

"The petrifications take the shape of a star…"

Harry furrowed his eyebrow. Each floor of the castle had different dimensions. It wouldn't be possible to even make a shape considering the space distortions.

However, the young Ravenclaw insisted, "Look, try to put the floors in the castle as if they would fit somehow. Remove all of the space enchantments, like they were normal rooms. They should fit, somehow. Now light the location of every attack and remove the castle altogether."

Harry did as Luna instructed and gaped as he noticed a pattern emerge from the light. He connected all of the attacks to each other. It was a star with a missing side, or more specifically a giant pentagram that the castle diagonally. Riddle was planning a giant ritual of some sort. He was right, this is a lot bigger than Harry realized, "How the hell did you see that?"

Luna answered with a shrug, "I just do. There's a point missing to complete the star."

"The location of the last petrification," Harry created a point that would complete the Pentagram, and he recreated the castle. He then found where the last attack would take place.

The answer was a familiar location that Harry should have been elated to discover, but it made him feel like his veins had turned to ice. "Daphne," he murmured.

Without saying a word, the Potter scion ran out of the Room of Requirements towards the library, the location of the last attack. The moment he entered he yelled out, "Daphne!!!"

He kept running around the library like a madman, ignoring the protests of Madam Pince. He could deal with a few detentions. This was far more important.

Finally, Harry froze when he saw his best friend. She stood unmoving, with her eyes widened, while holding a mirror in her hand. A familiar smiling face drawn in blood was on the walls and the Potter scion felt like he couldn't breathe.

Madam Pince came in running after him and also stayed motionless at the scene, "Merlin's beard."

But Harry didn't care. This was his fault. Riddle had targeted her because of him. However, this feeling of guilt was quickly overwhelmed with something else. The Potter scion had rarely experienced such emotion.

Rage. All-consuming burning rage.

He was going to burn Riddle for this.
 
Chapter 117 & 118: Scarlet Precision & Into the Abyss
Chapter 117: Scarlet Precision

16 March 1993, Hogwarts

The petrification of Daphne Greengrass changed things. Things really started to look bleak for the boy who lived, especially with the Slytherins looking nervous for the first time since the attacks started. The heat and suspicion on the Longbottom scion had skyrocketed, because a member of the House of Snakes was attacked. Neville's distaste for the house was very well known, and since he technically had a motive to petrify every victim, and he was a parselmouth, the entire school pretty much stayed away from him.

Honestly, Neville wanted to curse the Heir of Slytherin for giving him that much trouble.

However, the school itself was also in danger of closing for the first time in decades. Even when Lord Voldemort still had a body and was fighting a war, and actual death eaters roamed the halls of the castle disguised as students, the school still remained strong. Dumbledore remained strong. The school had survived McLaggen's petrification because they were still under the headmaster's banner, politically, at least.

But the Greengrasses were not the same. The Longbottom scion expected them to use every dirty trick they could manage just to get a measure of retribution from whoever they thought was responsible, which included Neville and Dumbledore.

The Daily Prophet article had done enough damage to their reputations. The revelation that Neville was a Parselmouth had changed things and his grandmother was the one dealing with the aftermath.

Neville clenched his hand when he remembered that article that pretty much slandered him and the Professor. If it wasn't for the enchantments his grandmother put up, he would have been overwhelmed by hate mail. His Gran had already doubled the number of people going through his mail in the last few days alone. They already hired a couple of people years ago to go through his mail and sort it out accordingly.

The truth was that the Longbottom scion was famous on a national scale, and sometimes even internationally. There were dozens, sometimes even hundreds, of letters that arrived every day asking for endorsements, inviting him into an event or another, or sometimes even just giving him gifts. Fan mail got boring very quickly after the first hundred letters. There were secrecy contracts, of course, since mail is somewhat sensitive, but official letters tended to be obviously marked, so the risk of them knowing something damaging was little.

Anyway, Neville's Gran hiring more people meant that the current workers were overwhelmed, and that meant that things were really bad in terms of public opinion. The elder woman had refused to tell him what the letters contained, but he knew that it was her way of protecting him from the outside world.

Right now, Neville was sitting alone in a corner of the common room, everyone was giving him a wide berth and glances when they thought he wasn't looking. He hadn't seen Ron or Hermione in a couple of hours. Hermione was probably in the library studying and Ron was either asleep or playing chess against himself. Neville didn't feel like talking to them. He didn't feel like talking to anyone, really.

Of course, that was when Professor McGonagall entered the common room, and everyone shut up to listen to her announcement. There was a big possibility that the school would be shut down, after all, "First of all, I want to reassure all of you that Professor Dumbledore decided against shutting down the school at this moment, but that decision can still be contested by the board and even the ministry, so I cannot say if that decision will be final or not."

A few students whooped but they were silenced quickly by her glare, "Now, with that said, I still have a few things to address to all of you. Considering the escalation that the perpetrator of these horrid attacks has been exhibiting, a few rules and regulations have been decided. From now on, all students will return to their House common rooms by six o'clock in the evening. No student is to leave the dormitories after that time. You will be escorted to each lesson by a teacher. No student is to use the bathroom unaccompanied by a teacher. All further Quidditch training and matches are to be postponed. There will be no more evening activities, so no clubs, no meetings, nothing other than classes and the common room."

There were a few voices of protest, but McGonagall raised her hand, "I know that this is stifling, but we're only concerned about your safety."

"Why don't you just expel Longbottom?" a voice asked.

"I know this is a difficult time for you all, but I assure you that if Mr Longbottom was in fact guilty, we are more than competent enough to have caught him. This is not a time for you to be divided, but to unite in front of that threat," the professor's voice turned somewhat choked, "I need hardly add that I have rarely been so distressed. There is the very present possibility that the school be closed if there is another attack, or if the culprit behind them isn't caught. If you think you might know anything about the attack, anything factual at least, I urge you to come forward."

She climbed somewhat awkwardly out of the portrait hole, and the Gryffindors began talking immediately, still giving him the stink eye.

But Neville didn't pay any attention to them. They had condemned him so readily, without even a second's thought, so their opinion stopped mattering to him anymore. But someone else had suffered as he had. Hagrid. He was accused of the attacks too, and he was even expelled for them. And if Neville knew Hagrid, he would never attack another human being. For all his intimidating appearance, the man was literally the personification of a gentle giant.

He had to talk to him and get his side of the story.

With that in mind, Neville stood up and looked for Ron and Hermione to join him. Maybe they were in their dormitory. He went upstairs and heard a familiar voice, "I'm telling you, Hermione, it might be Neville."

"Don't be silly, Ron," Hermione's voice responded, "we literally were with him when Filch was attacked."

"He could have petrified him before and then came back so that we wouldn't be suspicious," Ron protested.

"I'm telling you, Ron, it's not Neville. Now stop speaking rubbish and let me finish this essay."

Yet, the redhead wasn't to be deterred, "Even if it's not him, you have to admit that whoever is responsible has to be interested in Neville. Every single victim was someone that Neville either didn't like or had annoyed him in some way."

"Dean didn't do anything to Neville…"

"Anything that we know of. But my point is, are we safe? You know, I knew since last year that being his friend would be dangerous. But this is a lot more than I signed up for."

Hermione didn't answer for a few seconds, "No, it's not. And it might be dangerous. But like you said, we're his friends…"

Neville chose not to listen to the rest of the conversation. His friends were doubting him. HIS FRIENDS. They should be on his side, helping him, not run around behind his back and say stuff like that. If his friends wouldn't trust him, then he would rather not have any.

He was going to see Hagrid on his own.

Discreetly, Neville got out of the common room. It was easy. Everyone, even the prefects, was distracted by the announcement, which was kind of ironic since it was all about personal safety. The entire castle was pretty much deserted. The other houses probably had a meeting like the one that just happened in the Gryffindor common room.

The journey through the castle corridor didn't take long. Neville had memorized the castle by now because of his numerous adventures after curfew. There was a close call when a ghost was patrolling and almost caught Neville, but he hid quickly in one of the hidden passages until the floating spirit went past.

Finally, he left the castle and made his way to the shack that Hagrid called his home. Seconds after he knocked, Hagrid flung it open, and Neville found himself face to face with him aiming a crossbow at him, his dog, Fang, barking loudly behind him.

"Oh," he said, lowering the weapon and staring at him, "What are you doing here?"

"What's that for?" said Neville, pointing at the crossbow as they stepped inside.

"Nothing, nothing, " Hagrid muttered. "I just thought… Never mind, I'm making tea, why don't you sit down."

The man was clearly unsettled and shaking. He nearly extinguished the fire, spilling water from the kettle on it, and then smashed the teapot with a nervous jerk of his massive hand.

"Are you okay, Hagrid?" said Neville.

"I'm fine," he answered briskly, "This is just a sensitive time for me…"

"Hagrid, I know you were expelled because they thought you opened the chamber," Neville started.

"I didn't. I swear to Merlin, I didn't," the giant man started.

"I know you didn't, Hagrid. But they're doing the same thing to me. I just thought it would be nice to talk about someone who was in the same position once…"

The Groundskeeper's eyes softened but before he could say anything, there was a loud knock on the door. Neville quickly hid in the corner of the room, behind a few crates, which pretty much hid him entirely.

After Hagrid made sure that he was hidden, he seized his crossbow and flung open his door once more.

"Good evening, Hagrid."

It was Dumbledore's voice, but he sounded a lot more serious than Neville had ever heard him before. The headmaster wasn't even like this when he came to Hogwarts with a flying car or broke into the Slytherin common room while using a Polyjuice potion.

There had to be another person following him since there was another set of footsteps.

Neville was proven correct when a strangely familiar voice started to speak up, "Bad business, Hagrid. Very bad business. Had to come. Five attacks, two of them being on children with very influential families. Things've gone far enough. Ministry's got to act."

The Longbottom scion then realized who this was. Cornelius Fudge, the minister for magic. He had met the man a couple of years back at some kind of ministry event. What was he doing there? This was bad, very bad indeed.

"I never," said Hagrid, sounding so desperate that Neville clenched his fists, "You know I never, Professor Dumbledore, sir -"

"I want it understood, Cornelius, that Hagrid has my full confidence," said Dumbledore.

"Look, Albus," said Fudge, uncomfortably. "Hagrid's record's against him. Ministry's got to do something. The school governors have been in touch…"

"Yet again, Cornelius, I tell you that taking Hagrid away will not help in the slightest."

"Look at it from my point of view," said Fudge, "A series of attacks happened under your watch and the man who was deemed responsible for the attacks the last time is still employed in your school. I know that his records were sealed under your advisement, but if anyone realized that he was still in the castle, then they would tan my hide and yours. Look, I don't really have a choice. The public demands accountability and taking him is the only way they could be appeased while we figure out how to solve this mess."

"Take me?" said Hagrid, "Take me where?"

"It's only for a little while. Just a few months at most until the end of the school year. You'll also be let out with a full apology…"

"Not Azkaban?" croaked Hagrid.

"Of course not. You're a suspect, not a convict. It will just be a holding cell at the DMLE until we solve this mess. If you are truly innocent, then you have nothing to fear. You will be treated with the utmost respect, I'll make sure of that myself. But you have to admit that this situation could turn up a lot worse for you if you stay here and there's another attack. But if an attack occurs while you're away, then you would be cleared immediately. You could even appeal your expulsion and be able to wield a wand again."

Before Hagrid could answer, there was another loud rap on the door. Another person entered the hut, "Already here, Fudge. Good. Good…"

Neville froze when he heard that voice. This was Lucius Malfoy. That wasn't good at all.

"What are you doing here?" said Hagrid furiously. "Get out of my house!"

"My dear man, please believe me, I have no pleasure at all in being inside your… house," said Lucius Malfoy with a condescending tone, "I was told that the headmaster was here."

"And what exactly did you want with me, Lucius?" said Dumbledore.

"Dreadful thing, Dumbledore," said Malfoy lazily, "but the board feel it's time for you to step aside. This is an Order of Suspension. You'll find all twelve signatures on it. I'm afraid we feel you're losing your touch. How many attacks have there been now? Students have a right to not live in fear and this is just the board making sure of that. We assume that your deputy can take care of matters in your unfortunate absence, but if she is unable to... Well, we are more than happy to assign a replacement, but it would likely be a permanent one."

"Oh, now, see here, Lucius," said Fudge, looking alarmed, "Dumbledore suspended. This is the last thing we want just now…"

"I'm afraid, Cornelius, that the appointment or suspension of headmasters is decided by the school board, not the other way around. This was a unanimous decision. And that means that we all feel like he cannot protect the students."

Before anyone else could protest, Dumbledore spoke up, "If the school board want my removal, Lucius, I shall of course step aside…"

"But..." stuttered Fudge.

"No!" growled Hagrid.

"However," Dumbledore continued, "you will find that I will only truly have left this school when none here are loyal to me. You will also find that help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it."

For a second, Neville thought that this message was directed at him. It was obvious that Neville wasn't the one taken off guard by the headmaster's last statement. Instead of acknowledging it, they all started to leave the hut, at least it sounded like they did. Of course, before leaving Hagrid yelled out, "Oh, and if anyone wanted to find out some stuff, all they'd have to do is to follow the spiders. That should help, that's all I'm saying. Alright, I'm coming."

And with that the door banged shut, leaving the young Gryffindor trying to process what had happened. Dumbledore was gone. That was bad. That was really bad.

The school had lost its biggest defender while a monster roamed its halls. And what was Hagrid muttering about? Following the spiders? What is up with that?

Huh, now that he mentioned it, Potter did say about the weird movements of the spiders…

When he snuck out of the hut, the boy who lived noticed a great line of spiders going towards the Forbidden Forest.

"Follow the spiders." He muttered to himself.

"I'm afraid that's not on the agenda today," a voice behind him commented.

Neville made to raise his wand but was disarmed as soon as he touched it. He looked up at the attacker and saw the merciless green eyes of Harry Potter, "You?"

The boy shrugged, "Me. Now, I would let you get yourself killed by Hagrid's pet Acromantula colony and get no results whatsoever, but I'm kind of pressed for time, and I need a Parselmouth. So, I guess you're coming with me, Longbottom."



Chapter 118: Into the Abyss

16 March 1993, Hogwarts

As Harry pointed his wand at the disarmed Neville Longbottom, he couldn't help but think that what he was going to do would have consequences, ones that he maybe wouldn't have foreseen. He was going to reveal himself, in a way that he hadn't expected before. But every time he remembered the still form of his friend in the infirmary, he just didn't regret his actions.

Tom Riddle had gone too far, and that was something that Harry wasn't going to take lying down.

The attack had changed things for the House of Snakes. Subconsciously, even after McLaggen showed that the Heir of Slytherin was more than willing to attack Purebloods, Harry's housemates all thought that they were safe, that the heir wouldn't attack them. Daphne's petrification proved them wrong, and they finally started to panic.

Tracy and Blaise were inconsolable as well, but Harry refused to lose himself in his mourning, choosing to take his anger out on Riddle instead. His distance during this dark time was putting some strain on his relationship with his friends, but they were surprisingly understanding at Harry's need to keep busy.

Being busy was good. It occupied his mind from thinking about Daphne. Harry was doing his best to suppress all emotions pertaining to her. It probably wasn't healthy, and everything would end up crashing down, but he was going to be productive at the very least.

Daphne's attack had revealed a lot about Riddle's plan, but there was an inevitable conclusion to all of his research. Harry needed a Parselmouth to open the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets and there was only a single public Parselmouth in the castle.

Thankfully, Harry ended up finding Longbottom before the fool tried to sneak inside an Acromantula nest on his own. Rescuing him from the forest would have ended up being messy. He disarmed the Longbottom scion before he could think about hexing him by reflex.

The Longbottom scion had turned towards him with a betrayed look, "You?"

Harry had just shrugged and answered, "Me. Now, I would let you get yourself killed by Hagrid's pet Acromantula colony and get no results whatsoever, but I'm kind of pressed for time, and I need a Parselmouth. So, I guess you're coming with me, Longbottom."

Which brought them to their current position, "You're the heir of Slytherin?"

"Of course, I'm not," Harry answered with a snort, "Are you an idiot or something? I have better things to do than petrifying students."

"Then why are you doing this?" the boy who lived asked.

"This has gone on long enough. I'm hunting down the heir of Slytherin and unfortunately, I need your help. More specifically, I need a Parselmouth, and since you're the only one around, I have to settle for you."

Yeah, saying that had hit Harry's pride slightly. Yes, Parseltongue was a spell, some kind of soul projection of intent that worked as a pulse of intent. The noise was technically the incantation, which was somehow saved in some kind of magical crest, one that Slytherin had to have made sure couldn't be seen. Harry could technically replicate the process but only if he had a couple of years or maybe even a few months if he had a live sample of something using Parseltongue, so he was stuck with Longbottom.

"If you think I'm going to help you with anything…"

Harry snorted, "Hey Longbottom, look at me," the boy looked at his blank face, "Do I look like I give a damn what you think?"

The Longbottom scion gulped in fear and Harry nodded to himself in satisfaction. His point was made.

Finally, Longbottom spoke up, "You want to stop the heir too, don't you? I want the same, we could team up. Dumbledore was just removed from the castle; the heir will have free reign soon…"

Harry froze, "Dumbledore is gone?"

"Yeah, I just heard Lucius Malfoy say that he was voted out by the board. They even took Hagrid away since he was the one expelled for opening the chamber the last time."

Shit! Dumbledore was out of the castle and that was bad. That was very bad. Riddle had been aiming to specifically remove the headmaster because he would be able to stop his ritual. At least, that was Harry's guess. Without him being there, the Heir of Slytherin could activate his ritual without being stopped. That accelerated the timeline immensely.

"Yes, I know, he was set up fifty years ago," Harry mumbled.

Of course, this was when his unwilling companion started to gain a measure of intelligence, "Why are you so afraid? I thought you would have been over the moon if Dumbledore was removed from his position."

Harry stifled a snort, "Dumbledore wasn't removed from his position, not really. Hogwarts is his seat of power; nothing will ever remove him unless he doesn't want to be there. Do you honestly think the board could actually make him do anything? No, he's playing the long game. I'm guessing that Lucius Malfoy is going to have a very uncomfortable few months after this. But the problem is that he's out of the castle, and that's bad, that's very bad. He's going to start soon."

"Who is?"

"The Queen of England," the Potter scion answered sarcastically, "Who do you think? The heir of Slytherin, dumbass."

The boy stayed silent and followed Harry to the ground floor of the castle. It took a good part of a day for the Potter scion to find this place. He already had an approximation from his research but finding the exact place Tom Riddle had hidden the entrance to the chamber, took a lot of time practically.

"Where are we going?" Longbottom asked.

"The Chamber of Secrets, of course."

"And how did you find it?" he said.

"I didn't. The Chamber isn't a physical place. It's not even technically in Hogwarts. It's in a pocket dimension and the heir controls the entrance. I found the old entrance back in November, but when the heir found out that I was tracking him, he changed it. We fought, of course, and I won. But it's hard to permanently defeat something like him. It took some time, but he came back a month ago."

"What do you mean? Was he a ghost or something?"

"Something, I guess," Harry answered, "The magic would go over your head. It probably would go over mine as well since I never focused on things like that. Ah, we've arrived."

They stopped in front of what seemed to be a sophisticated enchanted clock of sorts. It was a somewhat artistic piece, that was mostly useful for finding out different astrological phases. Dead useful in potion making and rituals, but not so much for the average wizard. It was archaic, almost a millennia-old relic, and there were a lot of cheaper alternatives that were developed afterwards. Who would have thought that this ornament was a secret pass that practically no one knew about?

Harry used his Arcane Hearing to see the resonance of the artefact. Wizards had never needed the concept of encryption before. Because what would be the purpose of such an endeavour?

Of course, the Potter scion didn't complain. After all, it made breaking into secret passages a lot easier since reverse engineering using his Arcane Hearing was very easy if there was nothing preventing him from hearing the entire magical circuitry. It took around ten seconds for Harry to find the correct frequency and with a wave of his wand, he activated the opening function of the passage.

The gears started to turn, and the artefact opened up like a doorway, revealing a hidden room inside and allowing Harry and his unwilling guest to get in.

Longbottom was gaping at the entrance, "I didn't know this place even existed…"

He entered the room, admiring it. He was right to do so, it was as large as a common room and filled with portraits, tapestries, and books. It was a repository of forgotten lore and powerful enchantments, that Harry would have loved to devour in his own time. Unfortunately, it wasn't the time to discover the secrets of this place. Riddle's downfall took precedence.

"Neither did I before tracking the Heir down. It's called the Undercroft, I believe. I read about it in an old journal of some Gaunt who came to Hogwarts around a century ago. Nice guy, his family on the other hand, not so much. Even then, it didn't ever say where the entrance was, only that it was a secret room or something."

"And how did you track down the heir?"

Harry groaned, "When I looked at the attacks, I found something irregular. The victims were not that important, at least not as important as the locations. The attacks occurred in a certain pattern. If you take the castle and ignore the spacial anomalies, it looks exactly like a Pentagram. And pentagrams are very commonly used when it comes to rituals, because of the stability they create. And from my research, a ritual is activated in the middle of the circle, and the middle of the star is this room."

The Potter scion didn't know much when it came to rituals. It was a pretty sensitive piece of magic and well, it was too wild and unpredictable for Harry to appreciate. All of Harry's knowledge about rituals came from an all-nighter he spent in the forbidden section of the library trying to make heads or tails of whatever Riddle had planned. He didn't learn much, but he now knew enough to track down where the ritual was going to take place, and that the sacrifices were probably not going to survive it. The prospect of Daphne dying was unacceptable to the last Potter.

"Wait a minute. This is a ritual?" Longbottom asked.

"Yes, it is. A very large ritual, powered by five sacrifices and Merlin knows what else. I'm a bit out of my depth when it comes to rituals," Harry admitted, "I thought that I had enough time to stop it, but with Dumbledore out of the castle, this is the prime time for the heir to do it."

Longbottom looked frozen by the revelation and just nodded to himself, "How can I help?"

Taken aback by the boy's resolute tone, Harry said, "Since when do you agree with anything I say?"

"This is different. The school is in danger, and I think I could move past our feud for a little while…"

"What feud, Longbottom? I've mostly just ignored you. Trust me, I have better things to do with my life than this feud of yours," Harry retorted.

"Stop being a smartass Potter and tell me what to do…"

Harry groaned, "Try to find anything with a snake on it. Like a carving or something."

It took them around ten minutes for them to find the entrance. It was near an empty painting in the corner of the room. There was a tiny snake scratched on the left side of the portrait. The Potter scion grinned and spoke up, "Longbottom, say something in Parseltongue."

The boy who lived rolled his eyes and said, "Open up!"

"That was in English, Dumbass," Harry responded, "Look at the snake. Imagine it was alive, that his head was moving left and right, and tell it to open up."

This time, a strange hissing came of the boy's mouth. Harry could feel a pulse of magic projected by Neville's soul that had an intent of opening. The frame of the painting glowed with a brilliant white light and moved out. Instead of the wall, there was a small room, with a hole in the middle. It long tunnel going downwards that was wide enough for a man to slide into.

This was it, the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets.

Harry could go on with there. The pulse of magic Longbottom used could technically be recreated if he tried for a bit. He had done his best to memorize the feeling and sound of the Parselmouth when Longbottom asked the Chamber to 'open up'. He didn't need Longbottom anymore.

Harry threw Longbottom's wand back at its owner, "I guess this is it. Thanks, Longbottom."

"I'm coming with you," the boy answered with a final tone.

"This is not your fight, Longbottom."

"Of course, it's my fight. Whoever has been doing this is obviously trying to frame me. This is my school too, which honestly feels more like home than my actual house. My parents wouldn't have run from this, and neither will I."

Seeing that there was probably nothing he could do to stop the reckless boy, Harry shrugged, "It's your funeral. But let's be absolutely clear, if I tell you to do something, you do it without even questioning anything. And the first thing is to wear these goggles…"

Harry took off his hat, took out the basilisk glare-resistant goggles and gave them to Longbottom.

The boy who lived gave him an incredulous look and Harry realized that the boy likely had no idea what they were facing, "The monster we're facing is a Basilisk. Entire teams of specialists try and often fail to kill one of them. It's a giant snake that kills you if you meet their eye. The heir has been holding it back to just petrify, but you can still technically be defeated with just a look. I made these goggles to stop that. This pair was supposed to be Daphne's, but I never got the chance to give it to her. Remember that the Basilisk's venom is also very dangerous; it can literally destroy any magic so don't get bitten. Are you still sure that you want to continue, Longbottom?"

The Longbottom scion just gulped and nodded.

Harry took out his own pair, which looked more like glasses than goggles. Technically, Longbottom's pair was safer since it covered the entire field of view, but Harry couldn't incorporate his actual glasses with the goggles. Because Harry was still practically blind without them, so he had to compromise and create large glasses and go over his own.

With that done, Harry looked down at the tunnel and grinned slightly.

He jumped into it and yelled, "Geronimo!"
 
Chapter 119 & 120: The Chamber of Secrets & Check
Chapter 119: The Chamber of Secrets

16 March 1993, Hogwarts

Honestly, it took far too long to reach the end of the tunnel. It wasn't as scary as it looked; it was more like rushing down an endless, slimy, dark slide. Harry could see more tunnels branching off in all directions in a giant Labyrinth of tunnels, but none as large as the one he was sliding down in, which twisted and turned, sloping steeply downward, for what felt like miles.

When he finally saw a small light at the end of the tunnel, Harry raised his wand and cast, "Molliare!" towards the ground.

As expected, Harry landed softly on the cushioned floor and bounced up immediately after. Longbottom didn't get so lucky since he bounced off the floor and fell on his backside.

He got up, slowly, while holding his arse, "You could have warned me…"

Harry didn't answer him and just shrugged, deciding to look around. They arrived in some kind of small room with a tunnel going forward. Longbottom whistled, "We must be miles under the school, maybe even under the lake itself."

"I wouldn't really say so, since it's a pocket dimension. We're technically not in Hogwarts anymore, just the entrance to the chamber is there. I think is this some kind of playground for the Basilisk to move around with. Maybe the heir could map the tunnels of this place to the school's pipe system. It would explain how a large Basilisk would go in and out without being noticed."

"I did hear the voices from the inside the walls," Longbottom admitted.

"From now on, Longbottom, I want you to be very careful. We're in the heir's territory now, which means that anything here could be a weapon or a trick. From now on, I want you to listen to me and do everything I say. This isn't schoolyard antics anymore, this is serious."

The boy who lived nodded, "Enough with the last name stuff. If we're going to fight a monster together, we might as well call each other by our first names, huh, Harry?"

The Potter scion rolled his eyes, "Fine, Longbottom, just follow me."

The tunnel was extremely dark, so he conjured a ball of light that would follow them. Their journey was as quiet as a gravesite, and the first unexpected sound they heard was a loud crunch as Longbottom, no Neville, stepped on what turned out to be a rat's skill.

When the boy looked down, he yelped as he realized that the floor was littered with small animal bones, "Why are there bones everywhere?"

"Basilisks are known for their long hibernation cycle, but they tend to be famished when they wake up. I'm guessing the heir had to collect a large amount of food discreetly to feed it, so that it would start attacking again, rats were probably easy targets. He probably used some kind of modified summoning enchantment or maybe a pheromone charm targeted to rats. What you're seeing here is the remains."

"You have an answer for everything…"

Harry shrugged, "I don't leap into anything without planning."

"But aren't you leaping here without a plan?"

"I have several plans. Just because you just jumped into the mysterious tunnel without thinking doesn't mean that I have."

The Longbottom scion snorted, "You're an arrogant ass, Potter."

"Maybe I am, but how would you know?"

"It's been nice," Neville said, "being able to talk to you like that. I know you kind of forced me to come at wand point, but I always thought that we would be close when my grandmother told me about us being godbrothers. I was really looking forward to meeting you."

"Must have been such a disappointment, right?" Harry answered with a smirk.

"You have no idea," the boy commiserated, "the first time I saw you was when you were sorted into Slytherin of all places."

"I didn't really choose it. I just asked the hat to put me where it thought I would do best."

"I don't want to admit it, but Slytherin suits you," Neville said.

"And Gryffindor suits you."

They stayed silent for a few minutes, just walking forward, and the boy who lived asked, "Do you think we ever had a chance at being close?"

"Not really. We're too different, from two different backgrounds. I think we would have stepped on each other's feet a lot."

The boy hummed but before he could respond, he gasped. When Harry followed his sight, he saw the outline of something huge. Harry moved the ball of light towards it and marvelled at the sight. It was a gigantic snake skin, of a vivid, poisonous green, lying curled and empty across the tunnel floor. The creature that had shed it must have been twenty feet long at least.

"Blimey," said Neville weakly.

"I know, it's quite big. The actual Basilisk must be a little bigger since it had to shed the skin," Harry commented.

"How can you be calm? Did you see the size of this thing?"

"Trust me, its size isn't a big deal, its glare, on the other hand, is very dangerous. Big things are less agile. Slowing it down even more should ease things a bit."

The Longbottom scion looked hesitant for a bit before asking, "How well do your goggles work?"

"Not sure," Harry answered.

"What do you mean you're not sure?"

"Well, I don't have a Basilisk to test them on, do I? Look, the worst that can happen is you getting petrified. See the rubies at the back of the goggles, when these get hotter, it means that it's going to fail soon and to not look it in the eye. Try not to look it in the eye in general, but a few glimpses aren't a big deal. This is so you don't move around blind like an idiot."

The boy didn't seem convinced, but Harry continued for him, "Look, I'll be frank here. Our chances aren't that great, but like I said, the Basilisk is big, and that means that it's not as agile. It has two main weak points, the eyes and the mouth since the hide is as strong if not stronger than that of a dragon, that comes with the magic resistance and everything. Snakes are also cold-blooded, so any ice spell would slow it down. I'm giving you these in case you're in trouble."

Harry took off his fedora and took a small back inside it. The boy who lived opened the sack and took out a black sphere that was the size of a golf ball. His brows furrowed in confusion, looked, "What are these?"

"These little bombs suck the heat out of a twenty feet radius. You can later use them as normal bombs since they release the heat, so you could technically use them twice. I'm also giving you these as well…"

Harry gave him another two sacks and continued, "Same premise, the bombs in the white sack release a flashbang that would blind the Basilisk temporarily. Its eyes are pretty sensitive. And another is filled with a sonic pulse that should theoretically disorient the basilisk's senses."

Neville looked awed at what he had witnessed, "How in Merlin's name did you get all of this?"

"I made them. I told you I was prepared for this…"

"You made them?"

The boy honestly looked flabbergasted for some reason. Harry didn't really understand why. These weren't really all that difficult to make. Well, the goggles were, and Harry was proud of those. The rest were just single-use items filled with magic that were just released. Sucking out the heat was kinda tricky, but overall, Harry made them on a lazy afternoon after he decided to include Daphne. They were ways for her to fight.

Harry suppressed the wave of sadness he felt when he thought of his friend and went back to talking to Neville, who looked like his whole world was flipped upside down.

"Don't get distracted. You're the one who asked to come, and this place is very dangerous."

"I know. How am I supposed to fight something as big as this," he gestured to the giant snake skin, "It's massive."

"I told you, blind it, disorient it, then try to hit the back of its mouth or its eyes. Oh, and if you're trouble, try to think of your loyalty to Dumbledore."

It was kind of a long shot. But Dumbledore wouldn't really leave the castle without someone keeping an eye on his little prophecy child. Fawkes was probably making sure the boy wouldn't kill himself or something and that meant that the mythical creature was observing them.

"Dumbledore? What does he have to do with this? He's been suspended…"

"Yeah, he did. But someone like him doesn't really go away as long as people loyal to him remain in the castle. Do you honestly think he would hang you out to dry?"

The boy looked conflicted but nodded. He looked like he wanted to say something but then the floor started to shake.

As the ground trembled beneath them, Harry could see Neville's eyes widen with apprehension. The distant rumbling grew louder and more intense, causing the torches on the chamber walls to flicker and sway. It was as if the very earth itself was responding to some unseen force, sending shockwaves through the air. Harry and Neville exchanged a worried glance before focusing their attention back on each other.

"Remember, Neville. Follow the plan. If it doesn't work, Dumbledore is your best bet."

Before he could continue, the ground gave another violent shake, causing them to stumble. A deafening roar echoed through the chamber, reverberating off the stone walls. The source of the sound became apparent as an enormous figure slithered into view for a fraction of a second, before disappearing quickly into a tunnel that Harry could swear wasn't there before.

Yeah, it was a lot bigger than the empty skin they had seen previously. The Basilisk didn't seem to want to attack them directly but probably wanted to hunt them down. Harry remembered seeing glimpses of a yellow glow that made his glasses heat up slightly. At least the goggles seemed to be working fine. However, the king of serpents did not reveal his face to them immediately.

Was this how the Basilisk hunted? Did it use its body to throw people around, and crush them to death, while sneaking around trying to find glimpses of eye contact it could use to kill or petrify people?

It was far smarter than Harry thought it would be. Still, they were still in tunnels, even if it was somewhat of a maze, the environment was in their favour. Harry closed his eyes and focused on his Arcane Hearing. He could feel it, the Basilisk. It was a mix between a feral song and a predator that was ready to ambush its prey.

It was getting closer, and Harry grinned slightly before throwing a flashbang and sonic attack at the tunnel that was opening next to him. The creature screeched in pain and the ground started to shake once more.

Harry felt himself falling towards a wall which literally turned into another tunnel that he fell through. When he got up with a start, he couldn't feel the location of the Basilisk, he closed his eyes to focus, only to be interrupted by some slow clapping.

Tom Riddle stood in front of him, next to what seemed to be a small table, "Well done. You found the Undercroft and thus, the legendary Chamber of Secrets."

"It wasn't that hard, to be honest," the younger wizard replied dryly.

"Because I made sure it wasn't…"

"I see you've brought a pet of your own. I'm afraid I don't think it will last much against mine."

Harry shrugged, "Who knows? Worse odds have been overcome before, so why not now? After all, Neville Longbottom has a history of achieving the impossible."

The smile on Riddle's face somehow grew, "Perhaps. I don't know what you hoped to achieve, bringing him of all people. He's not nearly as impressive as he sounds. Trust me, I should know."

He looked to his right and Harry followed his gaze, only to freeze at the sight of an unconscious familiar girl, "Hermione Granger. So that's who your second host was."

"Yes, she was a delight, that one, nowhere near Luna, of course, but it could have been worse. Not a bad mind, but not tempered with a single shred of wisdom. I guess I expected more, but she was just so ordinary. I have to say that I had no idea you two knew each other. I guess it made everything all that sweeter. She was especially heartbroken after you unmasked her in the middle of the common room. She never guessed it, of course, but I could see your fingerprint all over it, especially with your little speech before. If we weren't enemies, I would shake your hand at the trouble you caused Dumbledore."

"Trouble that you finished off. Your choices of petrifications were very telling. But you shouldn't have gone after Daphne. You made it personal."

The older boy snorted, "Harry, this was personal the moment you separated me from Luna. An eye for an eye. I believe that's the saying."

The Potter scion gave him a blank look, and the heir of Slytherin motioned towards the table. Harry noticed that there was a chess set on it and a clock, "Do you mind joining me for a game? I have to say that I am interested to see how it concludes, even if your chances are dim."

Harry sat down, giving him an intense stare, "A five-minute game?"

"If you think you can manage it…"

"Pawn to E4…"

This was going to be interesting indeed.



Chapter 120: Check

16 March 1993, Hogwarts

Tom Riddle looked to be in his element, he was calm and collected, he had a small smirk on his face that indicated that he knew something that Harry didn't, that the end of the game was already preordained.

Harry finished observing his opponent and asked, "Is she dead?"

He was talking about the lying body of Hermione Granger, who didn't look like it was breathing at all, yet Harry could tell that she had a spark of life still left in her. It was odd, she was alive and dead at the same time.

The older boy's grin widened, "In a way. She was quite the host, I have to say. People seem to trust her. It was weird being in her body, recognized as being on the side of the angels. You should have seen the little Longbottom boy, running around like a headless chicken, trying to clear his name."

"Something that you orchestrated; I'm assuming."

"Every fairy tale has to have a good old-fashioned villain. You know, I always found that people do love their heroes, but what they love more, is tearing them down. Longbottom's fall from grace was almost too easy to arrange. You see, people don't really like heroes. Oh, they love to cheer them on as they save the day every time, but deep down, they don't want them to be real. They want heroes to fail because it would show them that they're not all that special. I heard that the hard way…"

Harry snorted, "The orphanage, I assume."

The older boy froze for a second but then, continued, "No. I learned that here. I wasn't always like this, you know. Have you ever seen a duel between Dumbledore and Grindelwald? I have, in person. It was terrifying, to feel so small in front of them, like staring at some kind of divine beings of destruction. Because that's what they looked like, gods. I was still a student. I tried to form an organization, to see if we could stand up to them with unity, to unite the entire school to eject Dumbledore from his position. They accused me of raising an army. It was funny, people believed that it was more likely that I was doing that, than doing anything to help, so I ended up using other resources at my disposal. I became the villain society wanted me to be."

"The chamber of secrets…"

"Exactly. This was a treasure dove of information, and with it a way to force people to listen," Riddle froze for a second and shook his head, "But we're not here to talk about that. Have you figured it out yet, Potter? My plan?"

Harry stayed silent and Riddle asked, "How hard is it for you to say that you don't know?"

"I don't know," Harry responded flippantly while moving his rook.

"Oh, that clever," Riddle chuckled, "that's really clever. Speaking of clever, it's been nice, you know, that game of ours. It's a nice distraction from the boredom I have been feeling. You needed this; I can see it on your face. I'm sure you enjoyed it, having the challenge, having the enemy. You need me or you would have been stuck in your books, never leaving the library. You needed a challenge, and you got one in me. You're just like me, except that you're a lot more boring. You lack ambition. And you call yourself a Slytherin."

Seeing his opponent make a move, Harry thought for a moment before moving his knight and said, "Your body… Is it some kind of functional astral projection or is it a magical construct that houses your soul?"

The older boy grinned, "A magical construct. I'm glad you like it. It was very tricky to acquire."

Harry gasped as he understood what Riddle had done, "Hermione's soul is technically anchored to her body, but it's temporary isn't it, until your construct is stabilized. You moved her soul to the diary and you're using her body as a buffer as you create your new construct. The body thinks you're possessing it and casting a spell, which you technically are, but you're using her like a battery, and the moment it's over, you would have technically made yourself a fully functional independent body. You would detach yourself from her, let her body fully die. But there's something missing. This kind of soul magic is very sensitive. I don't know much about it, but I do know enough to say that this should have blown up in your face, but somehow, it's stable. How did you manage that without the drawbacks of forced soul possession?"

"I didn't. Hermione Granger willingly gave herself to me. It was a fair bargain."

"And what did you offer in return?" questioned the last Potter.

"I promised to create a world where everyone is safe, where everyone is happy. I promised her a world where she was still your friend, a world where she didn't abandon you. She still misses you, after all this time."

Harry stifled the guilt that was building in his gut and spoke up, "You created a world inside the diary, an illusion, a simulation of the life she desires."

"Yes, I created her an ideal world, where she would learn everything that she could learn, where she could practice magic."

"But it's not real," Harry protested.

"It's real enough for her…"

The Potter scion had no way to refute that, "She would be dead."

"Not really, if you think about it. She would be alive in her little illusion, living in a play, in a utopia created just to suit her needs. Her soul would live on forever. Isn't that kinder than sticking her in a world filled with cruelty and death, a world that would discriminate against her just because of her lack of ancestry?"

Harry stayed silent for a good minute before stiffening in realization, "The ritual, that's what it is. You plan to do it for the whole castle, to stick them in your diary, in your makeshift world."

"I am offering a utopia and immortality for an entire generation of wizards and witches," Riddle stated.

"But how will your diary handle that many souls? It was made to handle a single shard, which you could stretch to a full one like Hermione's. But hundreds would overwhelm it quite easily."

Riddle smirked, "Do you know why the Hogwarts wards are considered impregnable? The official story is that it's powered by seven leylines that the founders harnessed very efficiently, but the scrolls I found here say differently. They say that the founders found a repository here, frozen from the age of the gods, that contained magical energy unlike anything they had seen before, a fragment of the magic of old, that they harnessed to create the miracle that is this castle. There is a reason this school is far more magical than it has any right to be. Slytherin passed on the way to channel the source of the school, enough to enchant a small diary into a true repository of souls."

Harry didn't know how much of that was real, but Riddle was obviously holding something back about that repository of magic. But that wasn't important. He needed to figure out what his angle was because so far, his motivations just didn't make sense.

"No, for all your talk of altruism, you have something else in mind. Oh, that's brilliant. The magic they leave behind. Your victims, every student here would have their magic absorbed to sustain your new body. You can't regenerate magic, can you? So, you're using an overwhelming amount to take that into account. That's your goal, isn't it, to escape the diary permanently."

The older boy's smile widened even further, "This is why I like you so much. You can keep up with me. All my life, I've been looking for a distraction, someone to see the world like I am. And that's you. I've beaten you. And you know what, in the end, it was easy. I was almost tempted to wait until you're older enough to do anything, but you see, I'm not that patient. Fifty years in a diary is more than enough for me. Maybe you would have stood a chance here."

"And how exactly did you beat me?" Harry questioned.

"Really? It barely took more than a single month. You've been chasing me like a bloodhound and followed the exact path I paved for you. Do you think that I would have told you my plan if there was the slightest chance that you had to stop it? You're here because I want you here. My network is planting evidence in your dormitory. I took one of Lockhart's essays to learn your handwriting and have been writing a diary for a good week, your diary to be exact. They'll see the traces to the Undercroft, all the way to the opened chamber of secrets, to see the boy who lived finally dead and the bodies of a muggleborn and a Slytherin loner, who petrified his only friend because she found out he was the heir. At least, according to his diary, he has. The Potter name is tarnished forever, cursed as the end of his line, and you die with the legacy of being a monster. Dumbledore gets blamed for a Basilisk being in the castle on his watch and him not reporting it, and I get a new lease on life. See, you're beaten. Morgana, did you have to be so slow?"

"So, you're planning on killing me, then?" Harry questioned.

"Well, I can't have you stopping me in the future, so I kinda have to do it. And just like that, I beat you. I'll have to deal with the other ordinary people. And it turns out that you're ordinary, just like them. What a disappointment!"

Harry stood silent for a moment before answering, "I can still stop the ritual…"

"No, no, no," Riddle said while shaking his head disappointingly, "The ritual is outside of this room. And you can't leave without my permission. You're making this too easy. Now, I'm starting to doubt if you were ever a worthy rival. Maybe I just overestimated you in my head, because so far, you've done nothing but disappoint me."

"You still haven't considered my other variable. After all, I didn't really come to this place by myself, did I?"

The older boy looked puzzled for a second before giving Harry an incredulous look, "Longbottom? That's your plan? You think that failure can do anything?"

Harry snorted, "Longbottom alone, no, but he's not alone, is he? Have you wondered why your older self would attack the Longbottom family? It would have been easier to kidnap the boy after killing his parents and mould him into a political tool that would obey him. Lord Voldemort was many things, impulsive, irrational at times, but he was not stupid."

"Why then?"

"A prophecy. The dark lord would mark him as his equal, and he did. The scar on his forehead is proof enough…"

Riddle raised an eyebrow, "That's what you're relying on? Divination?"

"Prophecies are tricky things. They can be invalidated, of course, but if there's a chance they can be fulfilled, especially if it's already partially over, then the entire world would move so that this chance would be seized. And the prophecy states that only Lord Voldemort can kill Neville Longbottom."

"I am Lord Voldemort!!" Riddle exclaimed.

Harry shook his head, "No, you're not. You're not even a person. You're a diary, you will always be a diary. When Tom Riddle killed poor Myrtle, he was devastated. He hated himself, his cunning, his cleverness, the characteristics that made him open the chamber in the first place. When Tom Riddle used her death to make a Horcrux, he put a lot more of himself than he should have. The soul isn't quantifiable, not in the way people can perceive it at least, it's the combination of who a person is, and when he created the diary, to get him to cheat Death, he put away his empathy, his cunning, his controlled nature, a fragment of his personality that was so large, so deep, that it started to develop a sentience that became you."

"No!"

Seeing a pressure point, Harry ignored him and continued, "Tom Riddle started to lose his personality, and became Voldemort. The process was slow of course, he had to forget the characteristics that he used to be. Making more Horcruxes sped up the process until he became the monster, he always feared he would be. He enchanted the diary, you to act as a weapon if he needed to get Dumbledore outside of his seat of power, and you had to obey. Your motivations are a lie…"

"That's wrong."

"Then tell me why you needed to open the Chamber of Secrets to perform your goal. You could have kidnapped the students in a day and readied the ritual. But you didn't, did you?" Harry asked with a pitying tone.

"I needed Dumbledore to leave the castle. His connection to the wards…"

"Then you could have changed the venue, get an older person to write in a diary and do your ritual in the ministry. There was nothing stopping you…"

The boy was stuck speechless, and Harry continued, "You never thought of it, did you? That's the problem. You were made to open the chamber of secrets, anything else is secondary. Your motivations, your goals are meaningless. They're not even your own."

Riddle had a furious look on his face. He stood up and started to pace, "This doesn't change anything. I won."

Harry kept giving him a pitying look, and the older boy snarled in response, "You hear that? I won!"

"Perhaps you did, but when you think about it, does your win even mean anything? Will you ever trust a single thought in your body to not be the programming that Voldemort planted in your head? You might have ensured that I lost, but you definitely did not win."

"The game is over, Potter!"

Before he could say anything, they both heard a loud banging. Harry's smirk widened, "Is it?"

It took less than a minute until a ragged boy entered the room with what looked like a bloody silver sword that was glowing faintly. Harry gave the boy a warm look, "Ah, you sure took your time, Longbottom."

He then turned to Riddle, "Are you still sure about your chances? Oh, and Knight takes rook, check."

The young Slytherin had a smug smile on his face. After all, his plan was still viable. He just needed to see what else Riddle had up his sleeve before going for the kill.
 
Chapter 121 & 122: Queen’s Gambit & Checkmate
Chapter 121: Queen's Gambit

16 March 1993, Hogwarts


Harry watched his opponent's expressions turn from incredulous at the sight of the boy who lived succeeding at killing a beast that literally wiped out entire teams of professional beast hunters, to a slight look of awe at the power that fate had to make that happen.

Of course, that awe was very short-lived, and quickly transformed into rage, which was smothered into cold calculation. It was fascinating seeing all range of emotion on Riddle's face.

The boy who lived pointed his sword at them, something that didn't make sense since he was too far away to be an actual threat, "Harry, what's going on?"

"This is Tom Riddle, the heir of Slytherin," Harry responded.

"Any why are you playing chess with him?"

"You have your battle and I have mine. Good work with the Basilisk, by the way. I'm impressed."

The young Gryffindor grinned, "The goggles and the bombs worked. I wouldn't do it again, but I guess that's the monster of Slytherin dead. But why aren't you fighting this Riddle person?"

"It's a little complicated. Your friend here didn't help things," Harry answered while pointing his head at Hermione Granger's body.

Then, Neville literally threw his sword away the moment he saw his best friend's corpse. He ran towards her, yelling, "HERMIONE!"

It took a few seconds for the Longbottom scion to realize that she wasn't breathing, "She's dead, isn't she? What did you do?"

Riddle was the one who answered, "I didn't do anything. This was Hermione's choice. You see, while I was the voice, the heir of Slytherin, I'm barely more than a memory. You see, Hermione Granger opened the Chamber of Secrets, she's the one who petrified other students. I was just the tool she chose to do so."

The boy froze for a second, "Hermione did what?"

"Yes. I'm just a memory, an idea more like, one that Hermione would have ignored if she didn't think it was good. You know your best friend do you think that anyone could have made her do anything? Stubborn as an ox, this one."

Neville snorted, "She's stubborn. What happened to her?"

"It's a side effect of her plan but believe me that she's still alive. This is temporary. You see, Neville, your friend is a hero, one that saved the world. You know she's a good person. Petrifying a few people isn't a big deal, it's temporary, especially compared to what her goal is."

Harry just stood there, transfixed as he saw Neville listen to Riddle's lies. It was a curious thing, the way the older boy could spread his web of lies. The passion in his voice, the sincerity in every word that he spoke made him sound so reasonable, like a coiling snake slowly constricting himself around his victim, suffocating them without them even realizing.

"And what was her goal," Neville asked.

"Why, peace of course. We devised a ritual, together, to create peace, to save the world from future Death Eaters, not by sending them to prison, but by having them sympathize with muggleborns. They will experience an illusion so powerful that they will think that they have lived another life as a muggleborn. They will experience the bigotry that they spout and will finally understand the consequences of what they're doing. Muggleborns will also experience the opposite, a life in wizarding families, experiencing the traditions and culture of the magical world. Imagine an entire generation that thrives in understanding and peace. They will teach the same to their children, and their children's children, until the entirety of Magical Britain will be at peace, a true utopia of magic. Isn't that a worthy goal, Neville?"

The boy's eyes were glazed, "Yeah, that sounds amazing. Why did she petrify all those people, though?"

"Time. The ritual needs time, and to offset that, we stole it from the victims, just a few months from a few students. That's what the petrifications really are, people frozen in time, harnessed for the ritual, for the greatest illusion that ever existed, that will ever exist. If you noticed, we picked the victims at random. Squibs, muggleborns, half-bloods, purebloods, we did not discriminate. That's what the ritual needs to work properly. We used the whole thing about the heir of Slytherin to act as a story, to make people not think too much about the petrification, so that no one would ever understand what we tried to achieve so that no one would try to stop us. No one figured it out, but him," the older Slytherin pointed at Harry, "He's trying to stop us. Our glorious purpose, our chances of having a utopia."

"What about Hermione, why is she dead?"

"Oh, come on, Neville. You know deep in your heart that this isn't true. She isn't dead. Do you honestly just believe what's just in front of you? I expected more…"

The boy started to look defensive, "Why should I believe you?"

"I told you. Hermione is alive and if you allow me, I will take you to her. Wouldn't you like that, Neville? To hear her voice, to hold her hand? You just have to wait just for a little while, and you'll see the miracle that she has created. I know you have regrets, Neville, and pain. I know that you wish that things in your life would be different, just like Hermione did. And she found a way to make it all go away. She created a way that would temporarily reset everything and live in the world she deserved, and she wanted to share it with the world. Imagine a world where you still have your parents, where your father tells you he's proud of you, where your mother tucks you in at night with a kiss on your forehead. Imagine a world without Voldemort, without Dumbledore, without wars over silly things like gold and blood, a world without the pain you are carrying, without your mistakes, without your regrets, a world where you don't have to be the boy who lived, where you don't have to live to meet the expectations of others, to be the hero they want you to be. Please, Neville, let me show you the world that your closest friend wants to create."

Neville looked entranced, "How?"

"Just trust her. You do trust her, don't you? Do you believe in Hermione Granger, Neville?

"Of course, I trust her, it's you that I don't. You framed me for the petrifications. I can tell you did…"

Riddle shook his head, "We didn't, but you're a parselmouth, so they tried to find clues that just weren't there, just like you tried to justify the injustice by seeing clues that just weren't there. Even then, we don't have to fight. Is your suffering for a few months not worth the paradise that we aim to create? Let's just make peace with each other, as we always meant to do. Let go of the anger towards the mythical thing that is the heir of Slytherin and embrace your friend's vision. Understand that we only wished to help, to save the world. The only snag in our way is Potter."

"I don't understand…"

"For the ritual to work a soul has to govern the illusion to make sure that everything works fine. I am not alive, so I don't have a soul, but Hermione sacrificed experiencing her illusion just so that the world would know peace. She's vulnerable now and interrupting the ritual will surely kill her. Potter doesn't just want to stop me; he wants revenge for what happened to Greengrass. He wants revenge on Hermione. He could stop the ritual, stop our world from being born. I'm just a memory, I don't have any magic, I don't have any power. I'm just a voice in the wind. But you do. Are you going to let him kill your friend? He did make you fight Hermione's protector, didn't he? He made you kill her strongest defenders because he couldn't. You could stop him, save your friend from his clutches."

"So, I have to fight Potter to save Hermione?" the Longbottom scion asked.

"Not just to save Hermione, but to save the world. He's the enemy. He doesn't get that to save the world, there needs to be sacrifices. He wants to avenge his friend, and that's noble. Why do you think he's not interrupting us now? He knows that I'm not lying to you."

Slowly, Neville pointed his wand at Harry, trembling slightly, "I'm sorry Harry."

The Potter scion, though, looked unconcerned. He just took off his fedora and shook his head, "Well, this has gone far enough…"

He snapped his finger and the boy just fell down unconscious. At Riddle's incredulous look, he snorted, "Do you not think I have a contingency plan in place if he decided to betray me? A small rune on the back of his neck, the moment we entered the undercroft, was enough to guarantee that he wouldn't do anything stupid."

"You're a ruthless man," Riddle commented.

"Nah, I'm just ahead of the curve. What is curious is your ability to convince him of anything. No wonder Lord Voldemort had such a large following, if he had a fragment of your skill, he could convince anyone of anything. A good thing for a con artist like him, like you, to have. You wanted to test the protections that fate offered Longbottom on me, turn a liability into an asset. But now, the question is, what are you hoping to accomplish now that your beast and your backup are gone? Are you willing to risk it all in a duel that you might not win?"

The older boy shook his head, "The chances you would defeat me in a duel are minimal. You're impressive, yes, and had you been two years, maybe even one year older, you could have posed a very significant challenge. But you're too unrefined. But then again, I don't have to fight you. King to Rook two."

"So, dazzle me, Riddle. What's that final trick up your sleeve."

"It's not really a trick. You didn't seriously think that Salazar Slytherin would only settle for a single ordinary Basilisk as his beast. No, the master of snakes would only choose the King of Serpents as his champion. You see, when the founders discovered the repository of ancient magic, they didn't know that they stumbled on the tomb of one of the greatest sorcerers of Ancient Greece, Herpo. The man had found something slumbering in ruins that he studied for decades trying to replicate. The result of his experiments was the creation of Basilisk, which he deemed to be a pale imitation of the real thing. Salazar was able to bind this great beast to his bloodline using a mastery of the Dark arts that even I could barely understand. It is one of the seven Titans of the magical world, true remnants of the age of gods, the world serpent, Jörmungandr!"

With that proclamation, the chamber started to shift, the walls started moving as if responding to the ancient power invoked by the name. The air grew heavy with otherworldly energy, and an ominous hiss seemed to echo from the very stones themselves. Harry's eyes widened as he gazed upon the transformation taking place around him, a mixture of awe and trepidation filling his heart.

Riddle's voice, now carrying an unsettling blend of excitement and reverence, continued, "Jörmungandr, the World Serpent, the creature that encircles the world in Norse myth, its enormity beyond mortal comprehension. The true monster of Slytherin, a being of ancient magic and primordial power, and it is mine."

As the chamber continued to shift and rearrange itself, a colossal form began to emerge from the very depths of the floor, scales as dark as obsidian glinting with an eerie iridescence. Slowly, the massive serpentine body of Jörmungandr emerged, coiling and undulating in the confined space, its eyes gleaming with an intelligence that belied its monstrous appearance.

Harry wouldn't admit it, but the sight was as impressive as it was disturbing. He never expected anything like it. This was his challenge, his problem, the final problem, "He's the Chamber of Secrets itself, isn't he?"

"Yes. Do you think that I would have let you in this place if there was a single chance that you could defeat me? You're not fighting me. You're fighting a force of nature. So, now, in the face of overwhelming force, tell me, Potter, how do you plan on fighting that?"

The chamber continued its metamorphosis, the ancient magic intertwining with the present moment. The confrontation was no longer about a petty rivalry between students; it had transcended into a clash of legacies, a battle that stretched across time and dimensions. It was hard for Harry to understand what he was seeing with his eyes, but he didn't have to use his eyes to truly see, did he?

He closed his eyes for a second and found the answer. It was risky, but it was better than many alternatives. He nodded to himself and looked Riddle straight in the eye, "I have to say it's an interesting trap, but you made a mistake…"

The boy stiffened and asked, "What?"

"This is a good trap, putting me in an environment completely under your control from the beginning. But you made a mistake, a huge mistake even. It's sad that you don't see it."

"What mistake, Potter?" the older boy insisted.

"Didn't one ever tell you that there's one thing you don't put in a trap? If you're smart, if you value your continuing existence, if you have any plans on seeing a tomorrow, there's one thing you never ever put in a trap."

"And what would that be, Potter?"

Harry put his hand inside his Fedora discreetly and grabbed a familiar weapon. The Colt. He closed his eyes and used his Arcane Hearing to find the source of the room, the soul of the mythical world serpent, "Me!"

He gave Riddle a smug look, took out the Colt, pointed it towards the source of the World Serpent, and fired.



Chapter 122: Checkmate

16 March 1993, Hogwarts

The moment he pulled the trigger, time itself seemed to warp around the trajectory of the shot. The air crackled with energy as a beam of light, so swift it was almost imperceptible, lanced forward. A cascade of prismatic particles followed in its wake, a trail of transient beauty hinting at the multi-dimensional reality of the event.

It was hard to describe the Colt's shot. It was so quick, so reality-defying that the English language just felt lacklustre, there were no words to truly describe the extraordinary event in front of them, and for all his visible nervousness, Riddle still looked overawed.

Harry had never expected anything like this, not in a million years, and he was the one who forged the damn thing.

The impact was instantaneous. The beam went through the invincible scales of the world serpent, through the walls of the chamber that was really the serpent's skin, until it reached the core of the World Serpents.

It was just hard to put what a core was in words. It was like the serpent's physical existence was nonsensical, was too powerful, or perhaps it was just too much for the human mind to comprehend, but for anything to exist, to live, its soul needs to reside somewhere, and the Colt is unstoppable until it reaches a soul. Harry could tell the moment it did reach the core; it was a loud gong to his Arcane Hearing that was accompanied by a burst of energy that rippled through the walls, through the floor, through everything.

Jörmungandr, the World Serpent, had always existed outside the universe's conventions. Its form had been folded through myriad dimensions, a safeguard to prevent its very presence from unravelling creation. The serpent's name held a clue to its magnitude—it could encircle the entirety of the planet, a testament to its immense scale. The Chamber of Secrets, in reality, was not a mere pocket dimension; it was a prison, a sanctuary, a manifestation of the serpent's essence. Its walls were its scales, its ground its flesh, and its pipes its bones. It was a living entity, a shapeshifter of the highest order.

Tom Riddle's command over this chamber was not just control; it was a mastery that bordered on symbiosis. Yet, even with his dominion over this sanctuary, he could not breach the barrier that kept the World Serpent contained. It was a truth that frustrated Riddle—the tantalizing prospect of wielding such an entity as a weapon in the external world had eluded him.

Had Lord Voldemort possessed the means to manipulate Jörmungandr's power, the magical world would have bowed to his rule long before. But the serpent's might was insurmountable, an embodiment of the divine that extended beyond the grasp of even the most formidable sorcerer.

And now, as the chamber stood on the precipice of change, of dissolution, Harry's pulse began to steady. The death of Jörmungandr marked the end of an era, the twilight of a legacy. The magic within the chamber pulsed, its resonance weakening as the life force of the World Serpent ebbed away. It was a process that would take time, perhaps years, maybe decades, as the chamber began to contract, as the tendrils of its magic slowly faded away.

This was a divine beast, and yet Harry had just killed it with a weapon he made, even if he didn't really know about the specifics. He was twelve for Merlin's sake, and he had just killed a beast that was considered to be a god thousands of years ago, and Harry instinctively could tell that there would be far-reaching consequences for what he had done, even if he still didn't know them.

He stared at the Colt in his hand, his gaze tracing the lines of its construction. It was an unassuming instrument, beautiful, but seemingly useless at the hand of a wizard that could manipulate the world with a wave of their wand. The ruby at the bottom was almost drained. That shot had taken a while out of the weapon, and it would need to recharge, not that he planned on using it on Riddle. His victory was all but assured now, and he wouldn't waste one of his remaining bullets on something like the abomination in front of him. At least he figured out the fact that he couldn't really fire the gun repeatedly, and that was good information.

Speaking of Riddle, he stared at Harry, his mind unwilling to comprehend what had just happened. The Potter scion gave him a small grin, "Oh, right, where were we? Ah, yes, Rook to King's Rook three, check."

"What?" the older boy sounded baffled.

"We have a game to finish, Mr. Riddle. Rook to King's Rook three, check. Make your move."

"Bishop to Rook Three," Riddle instinctively responded.

"You know, I almost let myself believe you when you said all that crap about Hermione. Even when I knew the type of man you are, how you operate. Even though I knew the truth about your ambitions, I still wanted to believe the truth about what you were saying, about the world you said you wanted to create. When you spoke to Neville, I felt the power of your promise. And I wonder, if that's what Hermione felt when she found you, and you found her. The desperation to have all her pain go away, to have her past rewritten. And that's how it works, doesn't it? The one thing everyone has is regret. You weaponize that, and then you use that weapon against them, to destroy them. Bishop takes Bishop."

Riddle stood up and started to glare at the younger boy, "Rook to Bishop Four!"

But Harry wasn't deterred and continued, "You did it to Hermione and you did it to Neville. You probably did it to Luna, promised her a world with her mother in it, and she fell for it like all others, but you got too attached, you believed your own promise, and you created this goal of a magical utopia just for her. You craved being free, like any bound creature, but your consciousness is that of a newborn. You might have the memories of a teenager and his skill, but you started truly being alive the moment Luna started to write in your diary. Rook takes Rook."

"Stop speaking in riddles, Potter. Pawn takes Rook."

"Bishop to Bishop seven."

"Queen takes Knight's Pawn."

Harry let out a bitter chuckle, "You had the goals you were programmed to do which was to open the Chamber of Secrets to kick out Dumbledore, your own ambition which was to escape the diary and live, and you found something pure that you wished to preserve in Luna. You imprinted on her and wanted to save her innocence. You literally combined all three into a single goal, that you were obsessed with doing. You want to create a world of illusion for Luna, which would help you escape the diary, and you have to do it by petrifying students and kicking Dumbledore out of the castle. You designed the perfect plan for all three, and you executed it brilliantly. And you are a brilliant wizard, don't get me wrong. But just as much as you may have designed an elaborate game, Riddle, you neglected to account for one crucial factor: the human spirit. Revenge is such a primal notion, don't you think? I just wanted you to know that whatever happens next, you brought it all to yourself. You really shouldn't have made it personal, Tom. I pity your existence in a way, but not nearly enough to offer you mercy."

Tom snarled, "This is entirely meaningless. In just a few minutes the ritual will activate. You might have killed Salazar's weapon, somehow, by a disgusting primitive muggle gun of all things, but there's nothing you can do to stop it."

"I could leave the Chamber, find a way out. You know I can do it. You've seen me doing the impossible just a few moments ago."

The older boy's glare turned murderous, "I guess I'll just have to occupy you until it's over. The loss of this place is a shame, a legacy of my ancestor destroyed because of an arrogant child who's too clever for his own good. For all your talent, boy, I am still the better dueler."

"Are you sure about that?" the last Potter answered with a small grin, "You do seem to keep moving. You know, you really shouldn't have gone after Daphne. Maybe I would have had a bone of mercy left for you. Alas, you'll burn, alone and forgotten in this place. Bishop to Bishop eight. Discover check and incidentally, mate."

Riddle snarled in anger and sent a killing curse at Harry, who used a modified spacial expansion charm on the entire room separating him from Riddle. The Killing Curse was still going next to him, but with more space to travel, Harry had the ability to duck.

The Potter scion waved his wand and the floor and walls started to freeze, slowly coming towards Riddle. The older boy, of course, countered by raising a powerful shield to halt the advancing frost. Ice and stone collided in a symphony of resistance, the clash of magic and material reverberating through the chamber. The atmosphere grew tense, an embodiment of the confrontation that played out between the two adversaries.

The smug little smile stayed on Harry's face, even as the heir of Slytherin created a giant beam of darkness and sent it towards him. He conjured a magical circle that telekinetically shielded against the beam, but Harry used his free wand to conjure a bolt of lightning at his opponent, who conjured a lightning rod, redirecting the attack.

His layered telekinetic attack, hidden behind the beam of darkness took Harry by surprise and sent him flying back. With another spell, Harry was disarmed, his wand in Riddle's grasp, "ENOUGH!"

"I don't know what you hoped to achieve here, Potter, but I am not as limited as I used to be before. I don't have to rely on tricks. You know that in a fair fight, you will lose."

Harry was going to create a magical circle, but he felt something ping on the back of his head, and now his victory was confirmed. He literally burst into laughter to the older boy's annoyance who gritted his teeth and snarled, "What is it?"

"Of course, I would lose against you in a fight. Oh, I can give you the fight of your life, pull tricks out of my ass, maybe even take you by surprise and get a win. But did you think for even a second that I would walk into this place willingly thinking about having a fair fight with you? No, I stacked the deck, you just don't see it yet."

"You know what? I don't want to know. Our little game is over. Goodbye Potter, Avada Kedavra!"

Nothing happened. The heir of Slytherin tried again and again, to no avail. Harry had a smug smirk on his face, "Something wrong, old sport. Performance problems. I know you're a little young, but it's nothing to be ashamed about."

"What did you do?"

"You know, I don't know much about rituals. I only ever focused on it when I saw that you were hoping to create one, but it didn't take long for me to understand that you planned to use the petrified victims to power it. It also didn't take me long to see that the blood was more than just for show. Re'em blood has many properties, especially when it comes to strengthening potions, but a little-known side effect is that layers of the blood are differentiated. So, it is technically possible to write runes, to connect the location for each victim, by adding small rune stones on their person, for example. That would make using petrified victims as batteries easier, even if they're in the infirmary."

Riddle's face blanched, "No!"

"Now, what would happen if you removed the powering aspect of a ritual? From my understanding, they're very unpredictable. But I did notice a trend, of sorts. They have a tendency to cannibalize their castor's magic if what's provided is not enough. And well, the only person still connected to the ritual, the only source of magic left, is you. You said that you're a magical construct, aren't you? I had hoped to use it to drain the diary of all magic, killing you immediately, but I don't think there's any reason this wouldn't work with a body like yours. Your magic is slowly being drained until you're barely able to manifest a body."

As he was speaking, Riddle's body started to fade slightly, "Stop this, Potter. No!"

"And with that, your dream of another world is as good as dead. I'm sorry, Tom, but you really shouldn't have gone after Daphne."

"Please, Potter. I only wanted to do my duty. I only wanted to live. Is that so bad?"

Harry shook his head, "I know, but you went too far. You could have been great. Unfortunately, you were shackled by your creator, who funnily enough, has become less human than you, a diary of all things. He would never care for someone like you did Luna. You might be dying, Tom, but you experienced life far more vividly than Lord Voldemort ever did. Goodbye, Tom Riddle."

And with that the heir of Slytherin faded into nothing, leaving a silent chamber. The idea that he was standing in a corpse was more evident than ever. He had won, now, he had to deal with the consequences of that.
 
Chapter 123 & 124: Truth and Consequences & Truth Hurts
Chapter 123: Truth and Consequences

18 March 1993, Hogwarts

Neville woke up disoriented slightly. He didn't remember how he had gotten to this place, which he realized in a few moments was the hospital wing in Hogwarts. It took a good minute for him to even remember the events that happened prior to him getting knocked out.

Potter, the Basilisk, Riddle, and Hermione. Oh, Merlin what happened to her? He sat up suddenly and exclaimed, "Hermione!"

"Calm down, Mr. Longbottom, your friend still lives," he heard the familiar voice of Madam Pomphrey say.

And just like that, with that confirmation, his thrashing stopped. The woman started to fuss over him and kept waving her arm, "Everything seems to be in order. You came up here with broken ribs and a concussion, which isn't really a big deal, if it wasn't for the fact that there was some kind of sleeping curse that kept you asleep for two days straight."

"Two days? What happened to Hermione? Did her plan work?"

"We'd all appreciate some insight into what you're talking about, Longbottom," McGonagall's voice interrupted, "the events of what happened to you raised many concerns. We would all like to know how you ended up unconscious, with a legendary sword that was lost for centuries, a cursed book, and Basilisk blood of all things on your clothes. That's not mentioning the comatose body of Ms. Granger. It took hours to find the two of you. I didn't even know that the hidden room we found you in even existed. So, start talking."

However, Neville didn't. He just stared at the form of Albus Dumbledore with awe, "Headmaster, you're back!"

The elderly man let out a small chuckle, "Yes, the board seemed to stop my suspension when you were attacked immediately. Apparently, they thought that the students would be safe with Hagrid out of the way. They were wrong, obviously, and since some of them have family members in the school, they kindly asked me to come back. Now, with that out of the way, why don't you tell us what happened, Neville?"

Honestly, the Longbottom scion didn't know where to start, until he took a deep breath and spoke up, "Hagrid's hut. Everything started at Hagrid's hut. I was visiting him when Fudge and Malfoy came. I heard them take Hagrid away and suspend you, headmaster. Hagrid said that I needed to follow the spiders if I wanted answers. I planned on going there, but I was stopped."

McGonagall groaned, "Thank Merlin. That man would have sent you to speak with an Acromantula colony on its own! Albus, you need to teach him a little moderation."

"And I will. This was unacceptable behaviour from him. I think that sometimes, Rubeus simply forgets that we are not as strong nor as resilient as he is."

He motioned to Neville to continue, "More specifically, I was stopped by Potter of all people."

Everyone straightened out, "Harry Potter had disarmed me, and told me that it would be too troublesome to let me go into the Forbidden Forest and get some answers, and instead, he just told me that he figured out where the Chamber of Secrets was, and that he needed a Parselmouth to open it for him. I would have refused, of course, but he had me at wand point, and I saw no harm in this."

Dumbledore's eyes flashed slightly, "Harry Potter was involved?"

Neville nodded and McGonagall frowned, "That's odd. He didn't say anything about it, and according to Severus, no Slytherin student was out of bed when you were attacked. They were all accounted for…"

"I don't understand…"

"Don't worry about it, young Neville, just continue your story," the headmaster urged with a gentle tone.

Still disturbed by the revelation, he spoke up, "So, apparently, the location of each attack made a Pentagram, which Potter deduced was for a ritual of some sort, and that its castor had to be in the middle of it. We found this room; I think Potter called it the Undercroft or something. We kept looking around for a snake, for some reason. I found it, and when I told it to open, the wall turned into a room with a huge tunnel in it. Potter told me that I was free to go, now, and that from now on, I could join him and defeat the heir of Slytherin together, but you wouldn't make me do anything. I decided to join in…"

The headmaster looked proud of his bravery, while McGonagall didn't look impressed, "Very well. So, you found out where the entrance was – breaking around a hundred school rules into pieces along the way, I might add – but why on earth did you decide to jump in a mysterious tunnel instead of coming to get one of us."

"Well, Potter was going to jump anyway. And I guess I wanted revenge. It was pretty obvious that whoever was pulling the strings was framing me for it. I just didn't want to end up like Hagrid so decided to fight for my freedom. Of course, all of that courage practically disappeared, when Potter told me that the monster was most likely a Basilisk that was restraining itself from petrifying the victims instead of killing them. Apparently, the voice I have been hearing when every attack occurred wasn't some weird premonition or clairvoyance, but the Basilisk's voice echoing in the pipes. Of course, Potter had prepared for that fight for months or something, since he already knew what the monster was back in December. He had some things that he enchanted himself to help in the fight. Goggles that would nullify the Basilisk's glare. A few flashbangs, sonic grenades, and even cold bombs."

Dumbledore raised an impressed eyebrow, "Flashbangs to blind it, sonic grenades to disorient it, and of course, cold bombs to slow it down. Magical or not, a snake is a snake. Quite ingenious."

"Yeah, of course, it was all useless when we were all attacked by the Basilisk immediately and he ran away while I had to fight the damn thing. It was huge, like sixty feet tall, huge. But the cold grenades seemed to work pretty well, and since it was slowed and couldn't attack from range, it wasn't that hard to run away from it, and keep throwing bombs at it. I had almost run out later, but I was able to blind it by sending rocks pretty quickly at its eyes since Potter said that they were a weak spot compared to the rest of its body. I used one of the spells Wood taught me, Ventor Leviosa, which we used in our training sessions to levitate balls and throw them with a release at a certain speed. It was kinda hard, but it worked."

And wasn't that funny? Neville Longbottom had defeated a Basilisk with a Quidditch spell, of all things, but it worked and no one outside this room needed to know about it.

The headmaster was visibly amused by this, "Sometimes, it's the spells we deem useless that allow us victory."

Neville nodded, "Well, isn't that the truth? But by the time I blinded it, I ran out of Potter's bombs. The Basilisk was moving really sluggishly, I think the sonic bombs still affected it somehow. When it accidentally hit one of the pipes, and the tunnel kind of fell down on it, it didn't really move. It was just lying there and, I remember saying to myself that I needed something to kill it and save the school. I don't know how that happened, but this sword materialized in my hand, and I stabbed it through the eyes multiple times. Hell, I even stabbed it through the roof of its mouth just to make sure it was dead. So, afterwards, I tried to look for Potter, so that we would get out of there."

They were all watching him with a slightly awed expression, "You killed a Basilisk," Madam Pomphrey murmured.

"Well, yeah. I know Potter said that it took teams of wizards to kill one, but it wasn't really that hard. It stayed in the pipes, and it was so big that it couldn't dodge any of the bombs. Potter's bombs helped a lot, to be honest, and the magic sword that appeared in my hand kinda did the rest."

They all stayed silent for a good minute before Dumbledore spoke up, "So, you went to look for young Harry…"

"Ah, yes, I did. I found him playing chess of all things with an older student. He was wearing a Slytherin uniform, but I didn't recognize him. And Hermione was lying on the ground. Harry said that his name was Tom Riddle or something."

Holy Merlin, Neville wondered if that name was cursed or something, because McGonagall choked on air, and the twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes disappeared, which caused Neville to shiver.

"Are you sure that it was Tom Riddle? What did he look like?"

"I guess, he was sort of attractive. He had black hair, dark eyes, kinda aristocratic, I guess."

Dumbledore nodded, "Please proceed…"

Seeing the serious look on the headmaster's face, he obeyed without question, "Well, it turned out that this Riddle person was working with Hermione for some kind of grand plan. They wanted everyone to experience an illusion of a second life. It wouldn't be real, but they would remember it. Muggleborns would have memories of being Purebloods, and Purebloods would have memories of being Muggleborns. Imagine an entire generation of wizards and witches finally understanding one another. It would be peace, true peace."

"So, it was Hermione who opened the chamber?" Dumbledore asked.

"Yes, but you're missing the point. The chamber itself was a cover, a way to make people have the wrong idea about what happened. But Hermione was casting the ritual, her soul inside her diary, which meant that if Potter stopped her, she would die. I remember trying to attack him, but he snapped his finger. Then I woke up here. Did it work? Hermione's plan, are we at peace now?"

Dumbledore gave him a pitying look, "I'm afraid not, young Neville."

"Potter!" Neville snarled.

"Neville! You don't understand. Tom lied to you, Neville. He was always charismatic when he was that age. Do not be ashamed, far older and far wiser people have succumbed to his charm before."

He didn't understand what the headmaster was talking about, "Who is he?"

"Not many know this fact, but Lord Voldemort was once called Tom Riddle. I taught him myself, fifty years ago, at Hogwarts. He disappeared after leaving the school … travelled far and wide … sank so deeply into the Dark Arts, consorted with the very worst of our kind, and underwent so many dangerous, magical transformations, that when he resurfaced as Lord Voldemort, he was barely recognizable. Hardly anyone connected Lord Voldemort with the clever, handsome boy who was once Head Boy here."

That little piece of information froze Neville in his tracks, "This was Voldemort?"

"Yes, from what I could gather from the diary, it is a very dark artefact whose purpose is to possess the person writing in it. I believe Tom made it as a weapon, to spread fear in the castle and probably throw me out. I'm sad to say that it succeeded where Lord Voldemort failed in this particular endeavour."

"So, it was a lie? There was no plan of peace," the boy who lived asked with desperation in his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Neville, but there wasn't. He was lying. Your friend, Hermione, was not a willing participant in any of this. She wrote in the diary and slowly he gained control over her body, he made her open the chamber of secrets, not the other way around."

"Is she alright? Hermione, that is."

"Her condition is stabilized, but this is the first time I have ever seen anything like this. From what I could gather, young Hermione's body is in a statis state, but her mind and soul seem to be bound in her diary. She remains there, living in a world created for her, living a blissful life, unaware of what is happening here. It's kinder than anything I assumed Tom would do, but at least, she's not in pain while we all figure out how to undo what happened to her."

Neville stood silent for a minute, "And will you be able to bring her back?"

"I don't know if it's even possible, but I do know that hope is a wonderful thing. I have called in dozens of specialists to look at her and I am hopeful that it would work. Have faith, Neville, she will be back one day, maybe even sooner than you might think."

Neville remembered Hermione defending him from even Ron, staying by his side when all the others scorned him. She was a wonderful friend and he failed her. He wanted to feel angry, he wanted to feel sad, he wanted to yell at the world, but all that happened was the fact that tears started to leak from his eyes.

The headmaster left him to grief, followed quickly by his deputy. Madam Pomphrey gave him a pitying look and gave him another potion, that he drank absentmindedly.

He heard Dumbledore say something about talking to Harry Potter. He didn't care, nothing mattered other than the overwhelming grief that he was feeling. It was his fault. If he hadn't listened to Voldemort of all people, maybe he would have been able to save Hermione.

He didn't know what he was supposed to do now, and it was eating him alive.



Deep within the hidden recesses of an elusive fortress, shrouded in secrecy, the eyes of an aged man snapped open. A sinister anticipation hung in the air, a palpable disturbance that reverberated like a shockwave through the very foundations of reality. His gnarled fingers twitched, betraying the ripple of excitement coursing through him.

Minutes passed, the echoes of the disturbance still reverberating within his being. And then, like the crescendo of a symphony, understanding dawned upon him. A mirthless laugh erupted from his lips, a chilling sound that slithered like a serpent that would have sent dread crawling up the spine of any spectator.

"Change," he hissed, his voice a blend of ancient wisdom and ruthless ambition. "The wheels of fate have been set in motion. This is the beginning of the end, Albus, the end that you refused to believe, and I can't wait to watch you burn."



Chapter 124: Truth Hurts

19 March 1993, Hogwarts

In the heart of Hogwarts, where the towering spires and ivy-clad walls held centuries of enchantment and secrets, Albus Dumbledore sat in his office and stifled the urge to blast the whole thing into oblivion. It was only the soothing whispers of the light that calmed him enough to objectively analyze his situation.

To say that Albus Dumbledore was frustrated would be an understatement. He was already exhausted; having barely gotten any sleep ever since the whole fiasco with the Chamber of Secrets, which ended up with an unconscious boy who lived and a muggleborn student who had her soul displaced into a diary somehow. He had to call in the Unspeakables for that, and in the event that they couldn't help, Albus could use Ms Granger to increase control over the child of the prophecy by dangling a potential cure in front of him. He honestly didn't know if he could do it, and even if he could, it would take a significant amount of time. Time that he wouldn't waste unless it helped him and his cause.

As for the attacks, Albus knew that Tom Riddle had to have something to do with them. The headmaster always tracked down the heritage of every attending student, to either collect them or profile them as threats. He even went to every muggleborn's home to make sure they didn't have any hidden magical heritage.

So, yeah, he knew that no one in the castle had any connection to the Gaunt family, and that just left Lord Voldemort as the main suspect.

To be perfectly honest, the entire situation was baffling. If he hadn't heard young Neville's tale about what happened, he never would have guessed it. Unfortunately, there were many holes in his story, the glaring one being that there was no sign of the Chamber of Secrets in the Undercroft. He had checked himself, and there was no snake engraving, no sign of magic at all, really.

He had ended up checking if the boy's memories were manipulated in any way but found no sign of mind magic. The boy was convinced that he was right, but everything else pointed to it not having happened.

What a baffling little mystery…

A knock distracted Albus from his thoughts and with a wave of his hand, his office's door opened, revealing the boy of the hour, a potential clue in the whole mess. Harry Potter was a student known for his cleverness, his cunning, and his maturity, that's not to mention his prodigal talent when it comes to magic. He was one of his most promising recruits, probably as a spy in the Dark, or maybe even a frontline fighter if war breaks down when Tom inevitably returns.

"Ah, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore began, his voice as gentle as he could make it, "I'm glad that you took time out of your day to speak with me."

"It's nothing, headmaster. But I will admit to being curious about the reason you asked me to be here."

"Well, as you probably know, young Neville was found unconscious, next to Hermione Granger, in a secret room in the castle. Fortunately, he woke up earlier today, and I have to say that his account of the events that transpired. Events that include you, Mr. Potter."

Young Harry's eyes widened, his expression a masterful blend of surprise and innocence, "I don't know what you're talking about, headmaster. I remember vividly staying in the dormitory the night he was attacked."

"And normally, I would be sceptical, but if you are involved in what happened inside the Chamber of Secrets, it is imperative that I know what happened. The safety of our students is paramount."

The boy frowned slightly, "I was under the impression that you returned in a purely ceremonial manner, and not fully as the headmaster."

"That would be the case, but it seemed that the Board was eager to get me back, with Mr. Longbottom having disappeared on the exact night I was suspended in. They practically ran to stop my suspension; some even said some very unsavoury things about a certain Lucius Malfoy. Oh, where was I? Ah, right, what happened in the Chamber of Secrets, Mr. Potter."

"I don't know," young Harry answered with a shrug, "It's quite the tale, isn't it? A hidden chamber beneath the castle, a monster controlled by the Heir of Slytherin, a boy heroically slaying the monster with a sword. Seems almost unbelievable…"

"And how did you know about the sword?"

"Ron Weasley has a big mouth. He talked to Longbottom and kept bragging that his friend killed a Basilisk of all things. Hard to believe, isn't it? That a student with less than two years of magical education could somehow slay a monster that massacred hundreds of beast hunters at the same time, and without even using magic. Although, I didn't know that Longbottom said that I was involved in any way…"

Damn, that Weasley boy. It took a few hours for Albus to keep things together, and it was more than enough time for rumours to spread. Merlin knows that very few things stay secret in Hogwarts, "A very good point, but I am curious as to why you believe this tale to be false. I remember you saying previously that you were sure that the beast was a Basilisk."

"Perhaps it is a Basilisk… And the whole reason why I haven't said anything about it is because I don't have any proof, just guesses."

"Are you saying that Mr. Longbottom is lying?"

Harry's shoulders slumped, his expression morphing into practised vulnerability, "I don't know what happened to Neville, but I can say for certain that I have no part of whatever adventure he experienced. I was in my dormitory, the night he was found. I don't think anyone with a fraction of self-preservation instinct would willingly fight a Basilisk. I don't know what to say, other than that it's not me. Maybe Longbottom imagined it all?"

That was a good theory, that Dumbledore had considered. Not that the boy would have imagined it, but that it was some kind of elaborate illusion that the boy fell prey to. However, there were a few issues with that possibility. For one, he saw the runes in the bombs that young Neville used in his memories. They were correct. Remarkable or not, Neville simply did not have the knowledge necessary to imagine these runes. The only option would have been an outsider illusion attack of some kind, but the fact that the sword of Gryffindor had absorbed some Basilisk Venom, was physical proof that there was at least a grain of truth in Neville Longbottom's story. Or there was before the damn thing vanished into thin air.

The sword of Gryffindor was a mythical weapon that was said to even give you a fragment of the prowess of the founder himself if it did deem you brave enough. It was a remarkable weapon that literally disappeared from under his nose. And if losing that weapon wasn't frustrating enough, with it the only proof of what happened in the Chamber was gone.

Steeling his expression, the headmaster answered, "Ah, but I believe that he didn't. However, I do find it curious that you would lose interest in the Chamber so readily…"

"Ah, I guess I'm just excited to see Daphne again. But I am just as curious as to why you're talking to me about it. You are obviously fishing for information, and I don't mind. I'm an open book, but if you've got so much evidence, I don't know why you don't just come forward with it. Where did Longbottom say the Chamber was again?"

"In a hidden room, called the Undercroft," the headmaster answered.

"And did you find the entrance to the Chamber there? Longbottom's been up for almost a day. If it was a clear danger to the student body, you must have gone there to explore it, to make sure that the threat was gone. Right?"

Before he could answer, the Potter boy continued, "What about that mythical sword Weasley kept prattling about? Do you have the murder weapon?"

Dumbledore spluttered for a second, "What are you hoping to achieve with these needless questions."

"I'm just wondering why you're so hung up on me being involved. You have two students found unconscious, the only one that was able to speak said that I somehow was involved, despite the fact that there is evidence that I was in my dormitory. He said that he somehow found the Chamber of Secrets, but you still can't find the entrance where he said it was. And that he somehow killed a Basilisk a feat that I doubt a team of Aurors would be able to do, much less a twelve-year-old child. And he claimed to have done it with a weapon that seemed to have vanished into thin air. I don't think I have ever heard anything that ridiculous, and I'm finding it hard to understand why you're so certain that I had anything to do with it…"

The Potter boy had a way with words, but Albus would secretly admit that he also had a point. The entire situation was so ridiculous that no one, not even his greatest supporters, would believe this tale.

And yet, before he could say anything, the boy continued, "Even then, I don't even understand why you would ever want people to believe that. Confirming that a Basilisk was in the castle, whilst students lived there, wouldn't end well. A cursed artefact, that petrified students would be a more elegant solution. After all, people wouldn't really feel safe sending their children to a school whose headmaster actively ignores their safety."

And here it was, the Blackmail. The boy was one of the few people who figured out the monster's nature. It was dead, according to Neville, that is. But if he wanted to investigate the Potter boy for his involvement in the chamber, he had to admit that he knew that there was a Basilisk on the loose and that he hadn't said anything for months. The curse solution was more elegant and more friendly to the public. An ancient, cursed artefact that a student was given, maybe even under the Imperius or something, would be a good way to end the investigation.

The implicit threat was simple. If Albus was going to go after the Potter boy, he would lose more than he could afford.

Fine, he was going to let it go, for now, but the boy had shown himself to be too competent to be left alone. Luckily for him, Albus still had one more card to play, "Oh, but I didn't bring you here to talk about the Chamber. I just wanted to clarify a few things. I believe it was a cursed artefact that was the culprit in our little mystery. No, I am here because I discovered something deeply perturbing."

"And what would that be, headmaster?"

"Your living situation," Albus suppressed a grin when he saw the boy stiffen, "It has come to my attention that you haven't lived in your aunt and uncle's home for some time, and that is simply unacceptable. I take the safety of my students very seriously. As you are a ward of the ministry, I am advising Cornelius to send you to a proper family that would take care of you in the summer holidays. You cannot live without guardians, Mr. Potter."

Ah, yes. He had spent the previous day looking up anything about the Potter boy, and he had gone to use some Legilimency on Petunia. And he was flabbergasted. She had barely even interacted with the boy and ignored it as much as possible. But her last conversation with the boy had lightened a few things up. First, was that he was a very mature young man. And second, that he hadn't lived with his muggle relatives for years.

So, that brought an opportunity. If he could get Cornelius to assign him to a family loyal to him, the boy would be discreetly brought to heel. It was subtle, but he could restrict the boy, his gold, his possessions. Get him on the right path, or more specifically Albus' path. The only question would be which family would accept him, and condition him enough not to rebel against Albus.

"Oh, I'm sorry but that won't be possible," the boy answered, "I was recently adopted by a relative of my father's. He saw the situation you spoke of and also found it unacceptable. I think the papers should go through soon."

This was bad, but not unsalvageable, "And who is this mysterious guardian of yours?"

"Arcturus Black."

And with just those two words Albus' dream of gaining any form of control over the boy vanished into thin air. He couldn't control his cold anger when he spoke next, "That sounds acceptable. You're dismissed, Mr. Potter."

The moment the boy left, Albus silenced the room and released a cry of fury. Damn, that boy to the deepest hells.

He looked at his companion, who had woken up with a squawk at his yelling and signed, "I think I lost this one, Fawkes."

The trill of the Phoenix brought some comfort, but not enough. It has been a long time since he was outmanoeuvred like this. Still, he would need to keep a close eye on the Potter boy. The boy could be very problematic in the future. Albus wouldn't allow anything to disrupt his plans. The Potter boy was still a potential asset, even if he didn't have to know about it. Worst comes to worst, he could just kill the boy if he becomes too troublesome.

He has done worse things in the name of the greater good of the wizarding world, after all.
 
Chapter 125 & 126: Green Pastures & Shedding Skins
Chapter 125: Green Pastures

19 March 1993, Hogwarts

Harry pondered on his conversation with Dumbledore as he made his way to the Hospital Wing. He felt vindicated, in a way, to finally get a real win against the headmaster. What he had done was essentially give the man a choice between risking his newly regained position as headmaster or not investigating Harry's involvement in the whole Chamber of Secrets fiasco.

This was the plan ever since Harry decided that he needed to get Longbottom to get into the chamber.

It was a big step, in a way, for Harry to finally stop clinging to the shadows and step into the light. When he decided that he would have to fight Riddle, he knew that he couldn't stay hidden anymore and Dumbledore's attention was more likely going to be on him.

So, the first thing he did was secure the fact that the old man wouldn't have any influence on him. This was easily done by asking Arcturus Black to take him as his ward. The paperwork took a couple of days to arrange, which was why Harry calibrated the rune to shut down Neville's consciousness for that duration.

The next step was moving the Chamber, which was done by using a mixture of compulsion charm and hypnosis on the unconscious body of the Longbottom boy. While Harry had disabled his consciousness, technically speaking, his unconscious mind still worked in the background. Giving him the image of a snake and asking him to tell that snake to move allowed Harry to analyze that particular word using his Arcane Hearing and use it to change the location of the entrance to the Chamber. It was like the boy who lived talked in his sleep, so, he wouldn't really remember anything.

The sword trick was far more advanced. Harry didn't think it would appear but didn't really discount the possibility because of whatever Destiny bullshit tended to happen around Longbottom. So, all it took was analyzing the enchantments on the sword and seeing whatever Godric Gryffindor added to it. Honestly, it was mostly Harry screwing around with it, and he had given up about making it disappear. And wasn't it a surprise, finding out that the sword disappeared? The Weasley boy wasn't one to hold his mouth.

It was like Fate itself wanted Harry to get one over Dumbledore. He didn't know if it was something he did when he messed with the sword, or if there was a hidden functionality that made it disappear when certain parameters were met, but he didn't care. It worked and that's enough.

It would have honestly been better to not have involved Longbottom at all, but it was mostly done to cover most of his bases. The Parseltongue was useful, but the fact that Neville should be protected by the prophecy meant that he had an edge that Harry could use against Riddle. It was a bit cruel, but it worked. The idiot actually killed a fucking Basilisk, with a sword that appeared out of thin air.

Changing his memories was something that Dumbledore would notice, especially considering the trauma that a memory charm would leave on the kid. Harry was many things, but he wasn't cruel. Maybe he could have used whatever bullshit his magic crest had done when they were attacked by Quirrell a year back, but he didn't know how to use it. Also, the fact that the boy who lived was in extreme pain during the encounter already hid any sign of trauma that could be caused by memory manipulation.

Still, Harry had won. He had denied Dumbledore an asset in the Basilisk corpse, let alone whatever Jörmungandr was. He had forced the man to not involve himself in his business, and most importantly, he defeated Riddle.

In a way, Harry was disappointed with the fact that the game ended. Did that make him a bad person? That he still craved the intellectual challenge of a rival, that he missed the blood pumping through his veins, the thrill of the chase against an impossible deadline.

Tom Riddle was a fascinating puzzle, a Horcrux that somehow combined with the portrait-like personality depicted in the Diary, and somehow became alive. More alive than Lord Voldemort.

It was probably a mistake, considering how unprepared Tom Riddle was when he made his first Horcrux. The soul wasn't some tangible thing that could be quantified. It's the summation of someone's character, of their true self. Theoretically speaking, making a Horcrux would make one immortal because of the paradoxical nature of someone being both alive and dead at the same time. Herpo the foul perverted the Phylactery ritual by finding out that souls that are split into pieces are still connected enough that if anchored properly could convince the world that you were still alive and that your body is the anchor. The advantage is the idea that you avoided the dangers of someone discovering your phylactery and using soul magic to literally remake you. But the main disadvantage is that splitting your soul is splitting your personality.

The idea, on principle, is to give away your ability to do something or feel something, into the book. Tom Riddle, who had accidentally killed an innocent student, wanted to get rid of the guilt he felt and unconsciously resented his complex planning, and his cunning that didn't account for him making a mistake. He put all of it into the diary, and slowly, without him noticing, started to lose those attributes, becoming the power-hungry monster that Voldemort was.

This spark of brilliance, cunning, and guilt, combined with the memories inside the diary, became a new person entirely, a broken person, who latched into Luna and wanted to create a world where she would be happy. But his prime directive was to open the Chamber of Secrets and kick out Dumbledore, so everything he did had to be related to that. Now, that was complicated enough on its own, but adding in the memories of being alive, of being a real person, Tom wanted nothing more than to live once more. So, he combined his three ambitions at once, which resulted in a chaotic complex plan, that Harry was able to stop. Oh, it was brilliant, but still too overcomplicated since he tried to do many things at once.

And Hermione paid the price for it. Harry didn't know why he felt so guilty about it. He literally couldn't have done anything quicker. It took exactly two attacks for him to narrow down everything, but the muggleborn was still trapped in the diary, in the dream world that Riddle had crafted for Luna months back. Hopefully, Dumbledore and the Unspeakables will figure something out, since that kind of magic was a bit over Harry's pay grade.

The thing was that Harry normally wouldn't have jumped into the danger like that if it wasn't for Daphne being attacked. And if he had stayed his hand, then Riddle would have probably succeeded with his ritual, and probably trapped an entire generation of British wizards and witches in his diary.

Daphne's petrification made things personal. It made him angry, far angrier than anything he had ever experienced. And that's what drove him to relentlessly hunt down Riddle.

Maybe this was a lesson to be a bit more proactive?

The whole Chamber of Secrets fiasco ended because Harry decided to dismiss the idea of subtlety and go for the kill. If he hadn't calmed himself before and made a few plans to make sure to reveal as little as possible while mitigating the consequences of his reveal.

And he did it for the girl who was petrified in front of him, her blond hair frozen, blue eyes slightly widened, her expression being a mixture of fear and panic.

"This is your first time visiting her," a voice stated behind him.

He didn't need to turn to know that it was Tracy. She and Blaise were pretty cross with him for his behaviour ever since she was petrified. Yeah, Harry didn't deal with loss very well. He was so consumed with revenge, in a vain effort to avoid the guilt he felt, that he didn't visit her. He didn't trust himself to handle it properly.

"It was about time," he simply answered.

"So, what are you going to do, now that you've avenged her?" Blaise's voice asked with a mocking tone.

Harry turned, his eyes wide, and Tracy chuckled at his reaction, "Oh, come on. You disappeared for two days straight, researching or whatever, and disappeared during the night. Except for being conveniently seen in the dormitory on the night Longbottom and Granger are found unconscious. You acted normally for a couple of days until Longbottom woke up, got called up to Dumbledore's office, and decided to visit Daphne for the first time. We know how smart you are, and most of all, we know you. Daphne probably gave you the red bean thing and was involved in your manhunt for the heir of Slytherin. When she was attacked, you couldn't handle the guilt and just decided to seek revenge, and no one even knows about it."

The Potter scion just stood there, gaping at his friends, "What? How?"

"You're like an open book to us, mate," Blaise said, "But you could have just asked us to help."

"I didn't want to involve you…"

"Well, next time, do. Here's our answer, you idiot," he tossed a red jellybean at Harry, followed by Tracy, "See, we choose the red pill. Now you don't have to act all mysterious with us."

Harry was a bit overwhelmed and nodded. After a minute of silence he stated, "I really appreciate this, guys. Can you give me a few moments with Daph? I have a few things I want to get off my chest."

"Sure thing, mate," the dark-skinned boy replied.

After the two had left, Harry took a deep breath, "You know, I have no idea if you can hear me or not. You know, theoretically being petrified means that you experience everything, but there's very little research on Basilisk stares, since, you know, people tend to die when that happens. I really should have visited you sooner, but I was so wrapped up in my guilt that I just didn't want to face you without having beat the guy who hurt you like this."

He sighed and continued, "I blamed myself for what happened to you. I should have been there to protect you, and I failed. I couldn't bear the thought that I might have been the reason you were petrified. That my games with Riddle spilt over to include you as well. I was so wrapped up in finally having a challenge that I didn't even consider that he wouldn't play with the same rules. Although, I guess I broke the rules first when I went after him the first time."

Tears welled up in Harry's eyes as he spoke, his emotions pouring out, "I want you to know that I'm so sorry, Daphne. And that I miss you, so much, more than I even imagined to be possible. You've been my anchor, my confidante, my partner-in-mischief since the very beginning. The last few days without you, I just felt empty, this void in my life that I tried to smother with my rage towards Riddle. I guess with my plan finished, with all that rage gone, I just realized how much seeing you like this hurts me. I'm not the most social person. Hell, I've never really had any friends outside of you, Tracy, and Blaise. I was ignored from the moment I was left on my aunt's doorstep, one night, and I guess I never realized that I wasn't alone anymore. What I want to say is, that the moment you wake up, I promise that I will never take you for granted again. I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

With a sad smile on his face, Harry turned and made his way to exit the infirmary. Of course, that's when he felt a spell coming at him with his arcane hearing and ducked out of the way.

Of course, he couldn't have a peaceful evening for once. It was Neville Longbottom who was pointing his wand at him with a look of rage on his face, "What the hell, Potter?"



Chapter 126: Shedding Skins

19 March 1993, Hogwarts

Harry pretended to be outraged, "What the hell is wrong with you, Longbottom? We're just outside the Hospital Wing you insensitive troll."

The boy who lived didn't seem to care about Harry's answer, "Why did you lie?"

He waved his wand around to emphasize his point, which produced sparks. A small crowd started to gather around them.

"Lie about what exactly? Seriously stop with the waving here. Why do you have to always resort to violence? Just for once in your life, calm yourself and talk like a rational person."

The boy lowered his wand arm, but still looked angry, "Why did you lie about the Chamber of Secrets?"

"I really have no idea what you're talking about…"

"Stop it, for Merlin's sake, stop it. We went to the Chamber of Secrets together. We found the secret room; I killed a Basilisk with a sword!"

Harry snorted in amusement, "Seriously, that's what you're going for? You killed a Basilisk, one of the most dangerous magical creatures in the world, without even using magic."

"I used the bombs you gave me…"

"What bombs? Seriously, why would I be making bombs in my spare time?"

"The cold bombs, the flashbang bombs, and the concussion bombs," Neville cited, "Do you honestly don't remember them? You made them to fight the Basilisk."

The last Potter hummed, "That's interesting. I can certainly see how useful those would be. The cold bombs would be effective because snakes are cold-blooded, so that would slow them down. The concussion and flashbang to blind the Basilisk, it's a theoretically good tactic. Still suicidal, but somewhat plausible. But there's a problem, how did you aim if you couldn't meet the basilisk's gaze?"

"You enchanted some goggles to protect against its gaze," Neville commiserated.

"No offence, but that's a little beyond the capability of second-year students. I know I would remember making something like that, and I definitely would be bragging about it."

"Stop lying, you little snake," the Longbottom scion exclaimed.

Harry let out a big sigh and spoke up, "Look, Longbottom, I don't know if you're lying to get attention, but telling the headmaster that I'm some kind of mastermind that somehow succeeded in a few days where he had failed, found the Chamber of Secrets, and defeated the monster inside, is just ridiculous. I was just in his office being interrogated about the events of the Chamber of Secrets, when I haven't even left my dormitory the night you got attacked or whatever it is you think happened."

"I'm not lying."

"Look Dumbledore told me that he spent an entire day looking for any evidence of what you said happened. He did find a secret room, but the Chamber of Secrets wasn't there. You didn't have any bombs on you, or any goggles. Hell, they didn't even find the sword."

Longbottom protested, "The sword was there, it just disappeared."

"Yeah," he answered while scoffing, "because swords tend to do that. Look, I don't care what you say, because it's not my problem. I don't care that you snuck into the Chamber of Secrets where the entrance didn't exist, I don't care that you fought a monster that massacred entire teams of wizards and witches by yourself with just a sword, I don't care that you were found without any of the equipment you said you had. However, I care that you're trying to use me as a witness when there's proof that I was in my dormitory that night."

The boy gritted his teeth, "Tell them that I'm telling the truth. I'm a hero. I saved everyone!"

Harry gave him a pitying look, "Look, man, Dumbledore thinks that you were under some kind of illusion curse, that made you experience something you craved, being a hero, slaying the legendary monster with absolute bravery, clearing your name from the stigma of being a Parselmouth, while you stayed unconscious."

"No," Neville protested weakly.

"I know you don't want to deny it, but don't you think that your feats are just too great, too unrealistic? If it was another student, would you believe that they did, in fact, kill a Basilisk with a sword?"

Longbottom kept shaking his head and Harry pressed, "Don't you think it's too much of a coincidence, that according to your narrative, I came out of nowhere, like some kind of quest giver in a fiction book, giving you all the explanations that you could need to heroically save the say, as well as the location of the chamber of secrets, the nature of the monster attacking, and the exact methods to defeat it. Don't you think it's too lucky that we're separated by some weird earthquake, that your sword somehow materialized when you needed it, and you used it to kill a mighty monster? Why wouldn't I just go tell a professor? Surely, they're more qualified than both you and me."

The crowd nodded in affirmation, but the boy just wouldn't let go of his story, "No, you were there. YOU WERE THERE!"

"Neville, just get some help. I don't know if you're going crazy or if this is a side effect of whatever curse you had on you, but you need to accept reality. Hell, even the headmaster is sure that there was never a Chamber of Secrets in the first place, that it was all a diary that trapped the user's mind inside it, and that could also hypnotize them to cast some kind of obscure petrification spell on random people and write about the heir of Slytherin coming for Muggleborns in blood. It was probably made by some kind of perturbed student who wanted to cause damage even after he graduated and left the castle. There was never any Basilisk…"

"No, it's a Basilisk. You said it yourself in the Slytherin common room," the boy who lived exclaimed.

"First things first, using a conversation where you deceived me by impersonating someone else is not a good argument to make. But what I said was that if Slytherin had a monster that could do all of this, it would probably be a snake that was long-lived, and could petrify people. A Basilisk was theoretically possible, but I don't think that Dumbledore would let students stay in the same castle as something like that. You trust Dumbledore's judgement, don't you?"

Neville gave him a heated glare and gritted his teeth, "Yes, I trust Dumbledore."

"So, you can't tell me that there's a small possibility that the old man wouldn't let an entire generation of students die for no reason, can you? Because if that's true, then he doesn't deserve to be the headmaster, does he?"

The boy nodded, and Harry went for the kill, "So if you think about it, either your story is false, or you're saying that Dumbledore shouldn't be the headmaster… So, tell me, which one is it?"

For the first time, the Longbottom scion hesitated. His rage began to wane as the weight of Harry's words sank in. He looked around at the growing crowd, some of whom were nodding in agreement with Harry's logic. He just answered bitterly, "You're playing dirty, Potter."

"No, I'm just being logical. But for all your lies, all your delusions of heroism, there's something that's really bothering me. You see, everybody lies, it's a normal thing. Sometimes it's because it's shameful. Sometimes it's because we're being stubborn jerks. Sometimes it's because we're ignorant about something. Sometimes it's because we don't even know that we're lying since it's far better than the ugly truth. A twelve-year-old boy lying isn't a big deal, celebrity or not, but what's really bothering me about you, what's really making me want to punch you, is the fact that your friend is dying. Her cold comatose body is in the hospital wing, which is just next to us. I just came to visit my friend, but you just don't seem to care about yours. You just care about being proven right, about being the hero, about people not calling you a liar, and that's just pitiful. There's a good chance your friend would die and here you are picking a fight with me because I wouldn't go along with your lies. There's a good chance that her parents will never talk to her again. And look at you whining about no one believing you. The truth is that all you care about is your own ego. Look at me, I came here because I missed my friend. Do you even miss yours?"

The Longbottom boy blanched, and Harry continued, "Take a good long look at yourself, Neville Longbottom. Are you happy with the person that you are, with the man that you're becoming? Do you think your parents would have been proud to see what you're doing, right now? I know I wouldn't. So, why don't you be a decent person, get in the hospital wing, and sit by your friend."

Longbottom just stood there, frozen in shock at anyone daring to say that to him. Harry was running out of patience, "I said, DO IT!"

The boy stiffened and nodded meekly. He slowly walked towards the hospital wing. Harry shook his head and addressed the crowd, "What are you all looking at?"

They all looked away and left one by one, looking down in shame. With the crowd dispersing, Harry watched Neville Longbottom's retreating figure until he disappeared into the infirmary. Honestly, there was a lot of real anger at Neville. Sure, he was successful at making the boy doubt himself, and there would probably be rumours circulating in the afternoon about the boy who lived going crazy, but the way the boy didn't seem to care about Hermione grated Harry immensely.

It was the guilt, Harry realized. To be perfectly honest, he stopped really caring about Hermione. They were barely friends for a month before she decided that she preferred Neville and Ron. Harry had long moved on with this, and his decision to ignore the plot from the previous stories, to not live in fear – a wise move in hindsight – just turned her into a regular lonely bookworm in his eyes, which wasn't worth the headache of being near Longbottom, and with it, Dumbledore's attention.

But there was something that Riddle said that bothered him. In Hermione's perfect world, when she bore down her soul to him, she said that she missed Harry and that they were still friends. Had he really forgotten about a girl who still hoped that deep down in her heart, they would one day reconcile or something?

It wasn't logical, but if Hermione dies, Harry knows that he would regret not making peace with her, at least.

Harry had won; he had literally gotten everything he wanted, he had gotten one over Dumbledore, ensured that he wouldn't be under his thumb, defeated Riddle, killed a divine beast that was probably thousands of years old, and had free reign over what to do with the Basilisk corpse, which he would leave alone for later after preserving the body, that is. It wouldn't do to have Basilisk parts available in the market while there might be rumours of a Basilisk being in the castle. Staging a fake expedition in the Amazon Forest in a couple of years might be better after memories start to fade about the whole incident.

However, for all that success the possibility that a child could die made the whole thing bittersweet. Hermione Granger was an innocent girl who was chosen by Riddle's sick mind to become his new victim. She died because Lucius Malfoy decided to plant the diary to get rid of a political rival.

Harry wished he could have saved her, but he knew that it wasn't really his fault. It's not like he could have done anything differently. If he hadn't gone after Riddle, then the entire school might have suffered the same fate, or maybe Luna would have taken her place, which wasn't really all that better.

Turning away from the infirmary, Harry let out a deep sigh and continued on his way out of the school. It had been a long and exhausting day, filled with confrontations and emotional turmoil. No, this entire school year was filled with confrontations and emotional turmoil.

Harry hoped that it wouldn't be the case for the rest of his school years, yet he knew that this was a vain hope at best.



AN:

I still haven't decided what to do with Hermione. Do I kill her off? Do I have someone save her? Do I leave her stuck in her fake world because she's happy there?

Let me know what you think or if you have any suggestions.
 
Chapter 127 & 128: Mosaic & Slithering Denouement
Chapter 127: Mosaic

2 April 1993, Hogwarts

Daphne must have fallen asleep somewhere in the library. It felt deeper than any sleep she ever felt before. As she slowly regained consciousness, her surroundings were still a blur, and her mind felt foggy as if she had just emerged from a dream. Her eyelids felt heavy, and it took a moment for her vision to clear. She had the urge to blink for some reason, yet all she could see was white.

She tried to turn her neck, but it just felt too stiff. It was like the time she slept badly on her bed, only a million times worse. She needed a muscle-relaxing potion for that later.

Did she hurt herself somehow when she was in the library? And if she wasn't in the library, where was she?

As the fog in her mind began to lift, Daphne's memory started to piece together fragments of what had happened. She remembered being in the library to return a few books. She had gone to browse for some replacements.

But then, something caught her eye, a strange movement in the shadows. She had turned to investigate, and that's when it happened. A cold, paralyzing dread had swept over her, and then nothing…

The memory felt foggy as if it kept slipping away from her fingers every time she tried to remember. No, there was something she did remember. She was afraid, deathly so. Why would she get this afraid in the library? Unless…

Unless it was the Basilisk. Harry had told her about the monster of the Chamber of Secrets. She had researched the so-called King of Serpents and was horrified by the mere idea that her best friend wanted to fight it.

Was she petrified? She wasn't a muggleborn, but then again, neither was McLaggen. Yes, she was afraid, she was very, very afraid. Had she screamed? Had she tried to run? The details were frustratingly elusive.

Her muscles still felt frozen, but a lot better than before. She could at least move them. She turned her head for a fraction of an angle and hissed slightly in pain.

The moment Daphne made a sound, she was accosted by a familiar black-haired boy, Harry, "Daph, are you alright, are you hurt?"

Daphne blinked up at him, her eyes finally starting to focus. Harry's face was etched with concern, and he was kneeling beside her. She tried to speak, but her throat felt dry and sore. It was as if she had been sleeping for a very long time without water.

Harry must have noticed her distress because he conjured a glass of water and helped her take a sip. The cool liquid was a relief, and Daphne felt some of her strength returning.

Harry's eyes were filled with relief, but also concern. "You were petrified, Daphne."

"The Basilisk?" she asked.

"Yeah, don't worry, Longbottom killed it."

"Longbottom?" she asked incredulously, but she then started to cough violently.

"I know, just take it easy and drink some water. Don't worry, we can talk about it later. A lot has happened since you were petrified. It's a bit of a long story and we'll have time after you're fully healed. Madam Pomfrey just gave you the Mandrake restorative potion, but the Basilisk was still pretty strong. It'll take time for everything to set in. Do you remember anything?"

"Not really, just being in the library and waking up now," she answered.

"Huh, that's interesting. Did the Basilisk's glare petrify your mind as well as your body? Most petrification curses don't really affect the mind, so I was worried about you having experienced everything without being able to move. Although, it is possible that this did happen, that your mind repressed it somehow to avoid any serious consequences."

"Stop rambling, Harry!"

The boy stopped and gave her one of the warmest smiles she had ever seen from him, "I really missed you, Daph."

The world sent butterflies in her stomach, but thankfully, she was partially petrified so she couldn't really blush like she would have normally.

She chose to change the subject instead, "Can't you get Madam Pomfrey to give me something to speed things up a bit?"

"No, a Basilisk's glare is still pretty powerful. It would overwhelm any of the potions we give you, so you might end up dealing with a few side effects without them even working. Just let things progress normally and you should be fine by the end of the day."

She wanted to talk some more, but Harry was quickly silenced by a glare by Madam Pomfrey who said, "Enough chit-chat, you two. Miss Greengrass needs rest and time to recover. I'll be keeping a close eye on her, and she'll be back on her feet in due course. Now, Mr. Potter, if you don't mind, I suggest you give her some space and let her rest. Visiting hours are over, and I won't have any more distractions in my infirmary tonight."

Harry nodded reluctantly, his concern for Daphne still evident in his eyes. "Alright, Madam Pomfrey. Please take good care of her."

Madam Pomfrey gave him a reassuring smile. "I always do, Mr. Potter. Now off you go, and I'll make sure Miss Greengrass is comfortable."

As Daphne continued to recover in the infirmary, she learned more about the events that had transpired during her petrification. She had, of course, sent a letter to her parent to tell them that she was alright. Her handwriting was pretty wooden, but it would get better with time.

However, the school was abuzz with rumours and theories about the Chamber of Secrets and the Heir of Slytherin, who had supposedly opened it and Daphne had heard her fair share of rumours even when she was in the hospital wing. Apparently, Longbottom and Granger were attacked a few weeks ago – she found out that it was just after she got petrified. Longbottom kept claiming that he killed a Basilisk with a sword, but no one really believed him. Granger was sent to Saint Mungo's because what happened to her was somewhat severe.

Harry wasn't really there to fill in the blanks, but then again, she could make her own theories about what happened. Still, the fact that the Basilisk was gone helped her relax. That damn snake was terrifying.

The other victims that were attacked also didn't seem to remember what happened, something that stank of foul play. Alas, Daphne didn't have the heart to tell them about it. Filch was inconsolable because of what happened to his cat. He was probably going to leave the castle entirely. Apparently, Mrs. Norris was the last gift he had from his wife before she died from Dragon Pox. The idea that it died suffocating in his arms must have really traumatized the man, and it would make sense that he would avoid anything that reminded him of her.

Dean Thomas also just looked lost. He had missed almost five months of classes, and there was a good chance that he would need some kind of remedial lessons so that he would have a chance at passing. Penelope Clearwater was in the same boat. She had thankfully in her sixth year, thus didn't have any OWLS or NEWTS to study. She was only petrified for around six weeks, so that was doable. McLaggen was still as annoying as ever, telling everyone that his father was going to crucify Longbottom for opening the chamber despite Daphne telling him that he was innocent. Apparently, a Slytherin's opinion didn't have much weight with him.

Finally, after a lot of arguing and tests, Madam Pomfrey allowed her and the rest of the petrified victims to attend Dinner. She was starving and the nutrition potions that the matron shoved down her throat were poor substitutes for a real meal.

She sat next to Harry, Tracy and Blaise, who looked closer than they had been for the entire year. The whole manhunt that Harry decided to partake in had made him so distracted that he kind of ignored them slightly. It was probably hard to talk with them when he was consumed by something that he couldn't tell them anything about. With the threat the Chamber posed being gone, they probably started to hang out a lot more.

They didn't really talk about much, just classes, and the homework she missed. Everything was going oddly normally until Dumbledore stood up.

Everyone stopped talking instinctively and the headmaster started a speech, "Thank you all for coming and I hope you would indulge an old man taking a few minutes of your time so that I could say a few words. As most of you probably know, this year was plagued by a series of attacks on members of the students, which led us to the conclusion that the Chamber of Secrets had been opened."

The student body started to murmur lightly, intrigued by the headmaster's statement. This was the first time, as far as Daphne could tell, that any staff member said anything about the Chamber of Secrets. They spoke about attacks, but not the chamber itself.

Dumbledore continued, "Well, I am glad to say that this horrific chapter of the school's history is finally over. The perpetrator of the attack was stopped, and its victims have just been unpetrified and officially released from the hospital wings, thanks to the valiant efforts of our resident mediwitch, Madam Pomfrey and our resident potion master Severus Snape."

The great hall was immediately deafened by the roar of applause that followed this announcement, which took almost a minute to end, "Yes, yes, we all appreciate their efforts, but I still have a few things to clarify. Many of you probably think that the legendary Chamber of Secrets was opened. That statement was proven to be false. We have determined that the cause of the attacks was not some monster but simply a cursed artefact that created some form of delayed petrification of whoever touched it. This was why the petrifications happened at random times to random people. Thankfully, the artefact in question was destroyed by none other than Neville Longbottom. The feedback of the even hurt him and Miss Granger. Alas, while this is a day of celebration, it is also a day of mourning. While Mr Longbottom was able to return relatively unharmed with only some brief episodes of confused memories, the chaotic release of magic had unpredictable consequences on Miss Granger, putting her in what looks like a magical coma. She is currently in Saint Mungo's seeking treatment, and we don't know if her condition will ever revert. Hermione Granger might have sacrificed her life for the sake of stopping the attacks, which is why the ministry will be paying for all treatment, and her parents will be compensated for their daughter's heroic actions. She will also receive an Order of Merlin Third Class by the ministry, whether she survives the encounter or not. We have lost a very brilliant witch too early. I want you all to remember her, and keep her alive in your memories and your stories. If the time should come when you have to make a choice between what is right and what is easy, remember the girl who lost so much to make sure that we are all safe."

He raised up his cup and spoke gently, "To Hermione Granger."

Everyone raised their cups as well and replied with a sombre mood, "To Hermione Granger."

Of course, later that night, when Harry told her what actually happened things started to make more sense. Harry and Longbottom had gone into the Chamber of Secrets. Harry killed the monster, which turned out not to be a Basilisk but a divine beast, whatever that was, and defeated Riddle. Longbottom had really killed a Basilisk with a sword, but Harry had convinced Dumbledore to say that the entire thing was fabricated since saying that there was a real Basilisk in the school would get everyone outraged at the headmaster.

Anyway, everything was fine. Harry had won, probably in her defence. It might be some kind of wishful thinking, but she knew that he wouldn't have gone so badly after Riddle normally.

Tracy told her that he practically disappeared for two days after her petrification, which ended up with Longbottom and Granger being found unconscious. Still, Granger's fate was somewhat heartbreaking.

Still, it was nice to be back. She didn't even mind when Luna came back to celebrate with them.

Well, she minded a little, but not as much as she did before.

It was nice for things to go back to normal once more.



Chapter 128: Slithering Denouement

15 April 1993, Hogwarts

Albus Dumbledore was, to put it mildly, feeling completely and utterly drained. His exhaustion ran bone-deep, a relentless weariness that easily ranked as one of the worst experiences of his long life. But this wasn't the kind of fatigue that a good night's sleep could remedy, as one might expect after a gruelling battle. Oh no, this weariness had a different source altogether – it was the lingering aftermath of the Chamber of Secrets catastrophe.

Now, you might wonder why a seasoned wizard like Dumbledore, who had faced countless challenges in his lifetime, would be so profoundly affected by recent events. Well, it wasn't just about the physical strain; it was the mental and emotional toll that weighed heavily on his shoulders.

Because even if most of the wizarding world had bought this farce that the Potter boy suggested, Dumbledore couldn't simply sweep away the complex complications and political entanglements that had emerged in the wake of the attacks on the student body. It was exhausting but Albus, as the head of Hogwarts and a key figure in the magical community, bore the burden of having to answer the questions of lesser minds. Well, calling them lesser minds was an exaggeration. They knew that there was something fishy going on and didn't fully believe what he had told them.

They were right, of course; Dumbledore knew a fragment of what happened, thanks to young Neville's memories, but even he did not grasp the truth of what really happened inside the chamber. The Potter boy had played his hand beautifully, so even Albus didn't know the full details about what happened in the Chamber of Secrets, and he couldn't investigate it because that might reveal the fact that Albus lied about the events of the chamber.

Additionally, the fact that there wasn't an actual culprit to blame complicated things, and the end result was far from agreeable. And here he was, Headmaster of Hogwarts once more, having to deal with five students who missed a lot of coursework, a muggleborn girl whose soul was stuck in a diary, and no sign of Tom Riddle. Even the diary itself had the name 'Hermione J. Granger' inscribed in it. That's not to mention the national celebrity that people started questioning his sanity because that was the only way Albus could deny knowing that there was, in fact, a Basilisk in the school.

Why couldn't the brat just have enough common sense to know that he should keep his mouth shut? That boy was becoming more and more frustrating to work with.

This was a disaster.

Perhaps calling it a disaster was too weak a word after all. Thank Merlin, he had been suspended when this matter was resolved because he doubted that his tenure as the headmaster of Hogwarts would have survived. Thankfully, the moment the boy who lived disappeared, he was immediately reinstated in a hurry. Alas, Albus knew that it wouldn't be enough to avoid the political shitstorm, coming his way. The school Board was angry, and the Ministry wanted more influence over the castle, as they always did.

The reason why people were so angry wasn't that the event was traumatizing or even dangerous for the students, but the fact that even the Unspeakables couldn't do anything about the young Miss Granger's condition. They were still researching and experimenting, but they were genuinely baffled.

Parents were terrified that the only reason their children didn't share young Miss Granger's fate was pure luck.

And so, the Headmaster of Hogwarts was running everywhere trying to extinguish the fires. The whole thing had cost him a lot of favours, especially when the daily prophet was involved. Thankfully, things started to simmer down slightly, hence the meeting.

And now here he was, in his own office, facing three of the highest-ranked Ministry appointees, who were there for him to explain himself. They wouldn't do anything, and it was a formality for their own ego, but Albus had been playing politics for enough time to know that this was going nowhere. The fires had been extinguished; these people were just trying to get any advantage they could have.

"So, Albus, what in Merlin's name happened? We left you alone because you needed time to get things sorted out, but the ministry needs answers."

Say what you will about Fudge's corruption, there was still a reason he was elected as minister for magic. He wasn't the smartest man in the room and had a tendency to run away from problems or just go too far with them, but he knew enough about politics to have a hint of what really happened in the ugly background of the wizarding world.

He knew how to keep magical Britain stable, and he was an acceptable peacetime minister. He was good enough to keep things together, but flexible enough to let certain things slide and not upset the uneasy peace they had achieved after Lord Voldemort's defeat at the hand of Neville Longbottom.

Still, the man was a minor bureaucrat with very little magical talent, in a world where magic is might. And he came here to demand answers out of him, the Champion of Light?

Albus suppressed his rising fury and answered with a frosty tone, "I don't see how I was involved at all. Need I remind you that I was suspended when all of that happened?"

"Come on, Dumbledore," Amelia Bone interjected, "you can't possibly think that we bought this whole petrifying diary story. I've seen the victims, and there isn't a curse that could possibly petrify people seemingly indefinitely, especially not one that was done by a diary of all things."

Amelia Bones, on the other hand, was far more worryingly competent when it came to causing trouble. She was rigid, and militaristic in a way, which made sense since she was forged and trained in the last war. Albus had done his best to curtail her possible ascension to the title of Minister since she would quickly destabilize the whole place with her rigid mindset. She was a straight arrow, that one, which would possibly get her killed.

"It's a bit more complicated than that. The curse was not a petrifying one, but a time stasis one as well. I didn't want to say anything because temporal magics were frowned upon, but the actual petrifying curse is layered with some kind of time-freezing effect to make the petrification permanent. I had to personally disable that part of the curse so that we could administrate the Mandrake restoration potion. With the actual part of the petrification destroyed, the temporal layer of the curse had nothing to be founded upon, which made it fade away. I did not share the details of the curse because I didn't want to unnecessarily scare the parents after the situation was resolved."

Their anger seemed to abate, but as usual, Amelia Bones decided to ask something else, "That sounds possible, but how is a Diary of all things do something like this? Curses are not alive, Albus, they don't decide to petrify people or write messages in blood."

Albus suppressed the urge to groan and decided to use a modified version of the truth, "It does when you realize who made the diary in the first place."

"And might that be?" Bartemius Crouch asked.

Now that was a man that Albus actively disliked, a zealot that just killed anyone he thought was suspicious during the war. He had killed more innocent civilians because of his paranoia, than actual Death Eaters, and wasn't that tragic. He was celebrated as a war hero, of course, until it was found out that his son had attacked the Potters alongside the Lestranges and joined their fate. The man tried to protest and say that his son was probably helping the Potters, but a quick investigation revealed that young Barty was a very disturbed boy and was in fact a servant of Lord Voldemort. His wife committed suicide after hearing about the death of her son. It was a sad story, but Albus had used this to remove the man from his post as the head of the DMLE into the Department of International Magical Cooperation, a department that was virtually useless for most of the time, where his career started to slowly fade away. The only person the man hated more than Albus was probably Harry Potter.

"Tom Riddle, but that's what he was known when he attended these halls. You would know him as Lord Voldemort."

By their widened eyes and Fudge's squeaking, Albus knew that he had their attention now. He decided to press on, "As you probably know, the chamber was opened around fifty years ago. I was the transfiguration professor at the time, but I always suspected Tom Riddle since I knew that he was probably the only Parselmouth in the school. I told Headmaster Dippet of my suspicions, but he chose not to act on them, refusing that such a charming, orphaned boy would ever do something this heinous. When one of the victims died, the boy ended up framing Rubeus Hagrid since even then, the headmaster would have had to start looking into it severely. Petrification is one thing, but murder… He knew that we couldn't take a chance. I located the chamber and warded it off until the summer when I killed the beast inside, which happened to be a Basilisk."

"A BASILISK?" all three exclaimed at once.

"Yes. We were quite fortunate that there only had been a single casualty," Albus answered with a sombre tone, "I am telling you this because I can tell you with extreme certainty that I knew that the Chamber of Secrets was not opened. However, I did recognize the diary that Miss Granger was found with. It was Tom's. From what I could discern, he enchanted the Diary to possess anyone who touched it. He left a jumble of memories, a remnant of sorts of himself as a teenager to force them to petrify people. When he realized that the Basilisk was dead, he used the petrification curse to achieve a similar result, yet one I knew was slightly different since I was there for both occasions. Hermione Granger is the one who attacked everyone, and her Diary kept absorbing her until her soul was completely consumed. Young Neville was able to destroy the persona inside the Diary but failed to save young Hermione's soul. The battle occurred inside the Diary, in some kind of Astral mental plane, thus the moments of delusions the boy experienced."

The three ministry employees were openly gaping at him. The minister asked with an awed tone, "Then why the secrecy, why hide all of this."

"Miss Granger was as much of a victim of the attacks as the other petrified students, perhaps even more so. I did not want anyone to blame her for what happened. I just wanted to protect my students. I will admit that it was a mistake for us to release Neville from the hospital wing while he still experienced flashes of what happened when he fought Tom."

They all nodded, and Albus even saw a glimmer of appreciation in Amelia's eyes. Huh, that was very interesting, "What about the petrified victims?"

"Unfortunately, Mr Filch resigned, unable to cope with the loss of his cat, and feeling extremely paranoid about being attacked by students. As for the other victims, we have offered private lessons so that they could catch up on the classes they missed, and they have already caught up with their classmates, apart from Dean Thomas that is. The boy was petrified for months and there's a very good possibility that he would have to redo the entire year. We are prepared to continue tutoring him during the Summer and test him before the beginning of the first year. It will depend entirely on his dedication and his performance. Anyway, as compensation, every victim was given five thousand galleons for being attacked on school grounds, and everything was settled with the parents. Although we had to obliviate the Grangers of all magic, and into thinking their daughter died in a muggle accident. They didn't handle the news well. We will, of course, return their original memories should the girl ever recover."

The Bones Matriarch seemed suspicious, "And how did the Diary get past the wards? A muggleborn girl bringing you-know-who's diary is very unlikely."

"I believe that the diary never left the castle. Tom had made it inside the castle, in some kind of hidden room, and Miss Granger must have accidentally touched it. The Unspeakables are studying the diary so that might shed some light, and I will look over the wards personally to make sure that there wasn't a security breach."

Bartemius Crouch gritted his teeth, "You always have an answer for everything, don't you?"

"I take the safety of my students very seriously."

Well, he also practised this story for days, for this inevitable meeting. They seemed to have bought his misdirection, and his willingness to protect his students. The school year would continue normally.

Now, with that fiasco over, he had time to think about a way to get back at Lucius Malfoy. After all, he was removed – even if it was momentarily – from his seat of power. He couldn't let that stand without consequences, could he?
 
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