Fifty Years of Tears
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Harry stared at the green silk canopy above his four-poster bed, his mind spinning faster than a Whomping Willow in a hurricane. Sleep was clearly not happening tonight—not when every piece of the puzzle had suddenly clicked into place with the satisfying snap of a well-cast Locking Charm.
A basilisk. Of course it's a bloody basilisk.
The revelation should have been terrifying. Instead, Harry found himself oddly exhilarated by finally having an answer, even if that answer happened to be a sixty-foot serpent capable of killing with a glance. At least now he knew what he was dealing with.
"Last time there were voices, I DIED!" Myrtle's shriek echoed in his memory, and suddenly her words made perfect, horrible sense. She'd heard the basilisk speaking in Parseltongue fifty years ago, just like Harry had been hearing it in the walls this term. But unlike the current victims who'd seen the creature through reflections or secondary sources, Myrtle had gotten a direct look.
Itisa stirred beside him, her golden eyes reflecting the dim light filtering through the lake water outside the dormitory windows. She'd been unusually restless lately, probably sensing the magical disturbance a basilisk would create in the castle's ambient energy patterns. Nundus were apex predators, after all—they'd naturally be aware of other dangerous creatures in their territory.
"What do you think, girl?" Harry whispered, scratching behind her ears. "Fancy a chat with the world's most dangerous snake?"
Itisa made a soft sound that could have been amusement or could have been her telling him he was an idiot. With cats, it was often both.
Harry's analytical mind began working through the implications. Luna had mentioned seeing "cords" that connected ghosts to specific locations—silver threads anchoring them to places of strong emotional significance. If Myrtle's cord led to where she died, then following it should take them straight to the Chamber's entrance.
Assuming Luna's willing to help track down a legendary monster, of course. Though knowing Luna, she'll probably find the whole thing fascinating rather than terrifying.
But here's where things got complicated. Harry could march straight to Snape's office right now, explain about the basilisk, and let the adults handle it. It would be the responsible thing to do. The safe thing.
It would also be spectacularly stupid from a business perspective.
Harry sat up in bed, his mind racing through the magical properties of basilisk materials. The skin alone was worth more than most people's annual salaries—not just for its rarity, but for its incredible magical conductivity. Basilisk hide could channel and stabilize magical energies that would destroy lesser materials. It was one of the few substances known to wizardkind that could theoretically handle the conflicting magical frameworks of ancient Etruscan curses and Norse protective enchantments.
If I could get my hands on basilisk skin, I could finish the Italian Ministry project. Hell, I could probably create talismans that would make my current work look like children's toys.
The ethical implications made his stomach churn, but Harry forced himself to think it through logically. If he told the professors about the basilisk, they'd organize a proper response team. Dumbledore would probably handle the creature's remains personally, claiming them for "the greater good" or some such philosophical nonsense. The skin would end up in some Ministry vault or research facility, well beyond Harry's reach.
But if Harry handled this himself...
Don't be ridiculous, he told himself firmly. You're twelve years old. Basilisks kill adult wizards with decades of experience. This isn't some elaborate business opportunity—it's a potential death sentence.
Then again, he did have certain advantages other wizards lacked. He could hear the basilisk coming, could potentially communicate with it in Parseltongue. And Itisa... well, a Nundu versus a basilisk would be an interesting matchup. Both were classified as XXXXX creatures for good reason. Well, Nundus were XXXXXXX creatures.
Plus, there's the regenerative aspect to consider. Harry's business instincts couldn't help but calculate the long-term potential. Basilisks shed their skin annually in a process similar to snakes, though far more magically significant. A living basilisk would provide renewable materials indefinitely. A dead one would give him enough skin for maybe a dozen talismans before he'd exhausted the supply.
Assuming I could somehow convince a thousand-year-old serpent to let me collect its shed skin like some kind of deranged magical janitor.
Harry flopped back onto his pillow with a frustrated sigh. The whole situation was impossible. He needed to stop the basilisk from petrifying more students. He needed to solve his talisman crisis before Italian Aurors started dying because he couldn't deliver on his promises.
And somehow, he needed to do all of this without getting himself killed in the process.
Right then. One problem at a time. First step: find Luna and convince her to help track down the most dangerous creature in magical Britain. Should be simple enough.
Harry slipped out of bed, careful not to wake his dormmates. Sebastian's bed was empty again—probably down in those mysterious chambers, still searching for something to help Anna. At least Harry's problems were straightforward by comparison. Ancient curses and legendary monsters were almost refreshingly simple compared to whatever family magic was slowly killing one of his closest friends.
Itisa stretched and padded after him as he gathered his cloak and wand. She'd want to come along, of course. Harry wouldn't dream of leaving her behind, especially not when they might be walking into a confrontation with a creature that had been terrorizing the castle for months.
Besides, Harry thought with grim humor, if we're about to do something spectacularly dangerous and potentially stupid, we might as well do it together.
He paused at the dormitory door, looking back at his sleeping friends. By tomorrow night, he'd either be a hero who solved the Chamber crisis, or he'd be a cautionary tale about the dangers of teenage overconfidence.
Knowing my luck, probably both.
With that cheerful thought, Harry Potter set off to find Luna Lovegood and convince her to help him track down a basilisk. Just another typical Tuesday at Hogwarts, really.
Harry made his way through the castle corridors with Itisa padding silently beside him, mentally rehearsing how to ask Luna for help without sounding completely insane. "Hey Luna, fancy using your magical ghost-tracking abilities to help me find a basilisk?" Yeah, that'll go over well.
The morning sun streamed through the tall windows, casting long shadows that seemed to dance and shift in ways that made Harry's nerves prickle. Every shadow could be hiding a sixty-foot serpent, every echo in the corridors could be the whisper of scales against stone. At least the basilisk seemed to prefer nighttime hunting—small mercies and all that.
Ravenclaw Tower loomed before him.
The bronze eagle knocker regarded him with the sort of superior expression that suggested it knew exactly how out of place he looked. Brilliant. Even the door furniture was judging him.
"Well?" the eagle asked in a voice that managed to sound both melodious and condescending. "Do you seek entrance to Ravenclaw Tower?"
"Obviously," Harry replied, then caught himself. Snark wasn't going to get him through this door. "Yes, I'd like to speak with one of your students."
The eagle's bronze eyes seemed to glitter with amusement. "Then answer me this: What grows stronger when shared yet weaker when hoarded, can save a life or damn a soul, and changes hands without being touched?"
Harry blinked. Well, that was significantly more complex than last time.
Right, let's think this through logically. Something that gets stronger when shared but weaker when hoarded. Knowledge fit that pattern—the more you taught others, the more refined your own understanding became. But knowledge was definitely touched when it changed hands, through books or conversation or demonstration.
Power was another possibility. Shared power could create alliances and strengthen positions, while hoarded power often grew stagnant or bred resentment. But again, power usually required some form of tangible exchange—gold, favors, written agreements.
Can save a life or damn a soul. That narrowed things down considerably. Harry's mind raced through possibilities, considering the riddle's deeper implications. Something intangible that grew through sharing, weakened through selfishness, and had the potential for both salvation and damnation.
"Love?" he tried tentatively.
The eagle remained unmoved. "Incorrect."
Harry frowned, running through other options. Hope? Faith? Loyalty? All of those could fit parts of the riddle, but none felt quite right for the complete picture.
Changes hands without being touched. That was the key phrase, wasn't it? Something that could transfer between people without physical contact, something that could be shared freely but diminished through selfishness.
"Trust," Harry said suddenly. "Trust grows stronger when shared—the more you trust others and they trust you in return, the stronger those bonds become. But if you hoard trust, refuse to give it or constantly doubt others, it withers away. Trust can save lives by enabling cooperation and loyalty, but it can damn souls when misplaced or betrayed. And trust changes hands through actions and words, through promises kept or broken, without any physical exchange."
The bronze eagle studied him for a long moment, and Harry held his breath. Finally, the door swung open with a soft chime.
"Welcome to Ravenclaw Tower," the eagle said, and if Harry wasn't mistaken, there was a note of approval in its voice.
Well, that was surprisingly philosophical for ten in the morning.
The Ravenclaw common room was exactly how it had been when it had been there last time to threaten everyone there.
What he hadn't expected was the immediate hostility that greeted his entrance. Or maybe he should have expected the last one.
Conversations stopped mid-sentence as nearly every Ravenclaw in the room turned to stare at him. The expressions ranged from curious to suspicious to outright unwelcoming, and Harry felt distinctly like a Cornish Pixie who'd wandered into a parliament of owls.
"Why are you here again, Potter?" someone muttered from across the room.
"Probably up to something sneaky," another voice added with obvious disdain.
Cho Chang, who'd been sitting near one of the windows with a group of her year-mates, immediately stood up with a defensive expression. "We haven't touched Loon-Luna again," she said quickly, her voice carrying just enough guilt to make Harry's jaw clench.
"How delightfully creative," Harry said, his voice dripping with false admiration, knowing they were still calling her Loony. "Did it take all of your combined intellectual prowess to come up with that nickname, or did you have to consult reference books?"
Cho flushed red, but before she could respond, Harry continued with the sort of smile that would have made Professor Snape proud. "But I'm not here about your charming social dynamics. I'm looking for Luna. Where is she?"
The Ravenclaws exchanged glances, clearly uncomfortable. Harry could practically see them trying to decide whether cooperation or obstruction would get him out of their common room faster.
A nervous-looking first-year boy near the fireplace cleared his throat hesitantly. "Um... Luna went to find the ginger girl, I think. Ginger Weasley?"
Ginny, Harry translated mentally. Not exactly the most observant bunch, are they?
"Ginny Weasley," Harry corrected gently, and the boy nodded eagerly.
"Right, yes. Luna's been really worried about her lately. Keeps saying Ginny's not being herself, that something's wrong with her magical... um... aura? Signature? Something like that."
Harry felt a cold knot form in his stomach. Luna had mentioned Ginny a few times over the past months, hadn't she? Something about the girl seeming different, not quite right. But Harry had been so focused on his talisman project and the mounting pressure from the Italian Ministry that he'd barely listened.
Brilliant job, Potter. Your friend tries to tell you something's wrong with a fellow student, and you're too obsessed with your own problems to pay attention.
"Do you know where they went?" Harry asked, trying to keep the growing urgency out of his voice.
The first-year shrugged apologetically. "Luna didn't say. Just that she needed to talk to Ginny about something important. She looked... well, more worried than usual. And that's saying something, considering it's Luna."
A few of the other Ravenclaws snickered at that, and Harry's opinion of their collective intelligence dropped another few notches. Luna might see the world differently than most people, but her insights were usually far more valuable than their conventional wisdom.
"When did she leave?" Harry pressed.
"Maybe an hour ago?" the boy offered uncertainly. "Could have been longer. Time sort of... flows differently when Luna's around, if you know what I mean."
Harry did know what he meant, actually. Luna had a way of making ordinary moments feel suspended, as if she existed slightly outside the normal flow of time and space. It was one of the things that made her so uniquely perceptive about magical phenomena others missed.
And right now, her unique perceptions might be the only thing standing between Ginny and whatever's been affecting her.
"Thank you," Harry said to the helpful first-year, then nodded coolly to the rest of the room. "Always a pleasure to experience Ravenclaw hospitality firsthand."
He turned on his heel and headed for the door, ignoring the indignant whispers that followed in his wake. Let them mutter about rude Slytherins. He had more important things to worry about than their wounded pride.
Luna's worried about Ginny. Ginny's been acting strangely. There's a basilisk loose in the castle that's been petrifying students. And now both girls are missing.
The knot in Harry's stomach tightened as he stepped back into the corridor. Itisa wound around his legs, sensing his distress, and he absently scratched behind her ears while his mind raced through increasingly unpleasant possibilities.
Please let them just be having a heart-to-heart conversation somewhere safe. Please let this be nothing more than typical teenage drama.
But Harry's instincts, honed by months of living with a disguised apex predator and navigating international magical politics, were screaming that this was anything but typical teenage drama.
Time to find Luna and Ginny, before whatever was wrong with the younger Weasley girl became something much worse.
Harry spent the better part of an hour wandering the castle corridors like a lost first-year, checking every place he could think of where Luna and Ginny might have gone. The library (Madam Pince glared at him suspiciously but confirmed neither girl had been there), the Great Hall (empty except for house-elves preparing for lunch), even the abandoned classroom where he'd been conducting his talisman experiments (thankfully still secure and basilisk-free).
By the time he had to head to Transfiguration, Harry's anxiety had shifted from mild concern to genuine worry. Luna might be eccentric, but she wasn't irresponsible. If she'd been that concerned about Ginny Weasley, there had to be a good reason.
And knowing Luna's track record with spotting things others miss, that reason probably isn't good news.
The Transfiguration classroom was already buzzing with the particular brand of tension that came with joint Slytherin-Gryffindor classes. Harry slipped into his usual seat beside Sebastian, who looked unusually pale and distracted. Anna sat on Sebastian's other side, the Aqualis crystal Harry had given her glowing softly in her cupped hands.
"You look like you've been wrestling with a troll," Sebastian observed as Harry settled into his chair. "Everything alright?"
"Just trying to track down Luna," Harry replied quietly, pulling out his transfiguration textbook. "She seems to have vanished along with Ginny Weasley."
Sebastian raised an eyebrow. "The Weasley girl? Aren't the two close friends or something?"
Before Harry could respond, Professor McGonagall swept into the classroom with her characteristic brisk efficiency, her tartan robes billowing behind her like she was personally offended by wrinkles.
"Today we will be transfiguring beetles into buttons," she announced without preamble, conjuring a jar full of clicking, scuttling insects that made several Gryffindors recoil in disgust. "The incantation is Colovaria Vestigium, and the wand movement is a precise clockwise spiral followed by a sharp tap."
Beetles into buttons. Right, because that's exactly what I need to be thinking about when there's a basilisk prowling the castle and two students have gone missing.
Harry's mind wandered as McGonagall demonstrated the proper technique. Joint classes between Slytherin and Gryffindor were a weekly occurrence, and Harry had long suspected someone in the administration scheduled them deliberately. Nothing quite like forcing traditional rivals into close proximity to keep things interesting around the castle.
Probably Dumbledore's idea. The man does love his little social experiments.
The practical portion of the lesson began, and Harry absently performed the transfiguration with the sort of casual competence that came from having an excellent magical education and natural talent. His beetle transformed into a perfectly round button with four holes, its surface gleaming silver with just a hint of the original insect's iridescent sheen.
Basilisk skin, his mind supplied unhelpfully. Incredibly magically conductive, naturally resistant to curses, and capable of channeling multiple magical frameworks simultaneously. If I could get my hands on even a small sample...
"Excellent work, Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall said, examining his button with approval. "Twenty points to Slytherin."
Around him, his classmates were having varying degrees of success. Hermione's button was, predictably, perfect. Neville's beetle had sprouted button-like protrusions but was still distinctly insect-shaped and attempting to crawl away. Ron's looked more like a crushed chocolate frog than anything resembling clothing fastener.
Speaking of Ron...
Harry glanced over at the redhead, who was prodding his failed transfiguration with obvious frustration. This might be his only chance to get some information about Ginny's whereabouts without seeming too interested.
"Weasley," Harry said quietly, leaning slightly toward the Gryffindor side of the classroom. "Quick question."
Ron looked up suspiciously, his ears reddening in the way that suggested he was expecting either an insult or a prank. "What do you want, Potter?"
Charming. Your sister's missing, and you're worried about House rivalries.
"Do you know where your sister is?" Harry asked bluntly, keeping his voice low enough that McGonagall wouldn't overhear.
Ron looked at him suspiciously. "What business do you have with my sister?"
Harry rolled his eyes before answering. "I'm trying to find Luna Lovegood, and someone said she went to talk to Ginny."
Ron's expression shifted from suspicious to confused. "Why do you want to find Loony—Luna?"
Harry resisted the urge to hex the git for using that particular nickname. "Because she's my friend, and I need to ask her something important."
"Your friend?" Ron repeated, as if the concept of a Slytherin and a Ravenclaw being friends was fundamentally incomprehensible. "Right. Well, I don't know where Ginny is. She's been acting really strange lately anyway."
There's that phrase again. 'Acting strange.' Luna noticed it, now Ron's noticed it. What exactly has been going on with Ginny Weasley?
"Strange how?" Harry pressed.
Ron shrugged, returning his attention to his mangled beetle-button hybrid. "Just... different. Jumpy, I suppose. And she keeps writing in this diary she got somewhere. Won't tell anyone where she found it, gets all defensive if you ask about it."
A diary. That could be significant, or it could just be typical eleven-year-old behavior. Hard to tell without more context.
Before Harry could ask any follow-up questions, Hermione's voice cut through his thoughts.
"Harry!" she said in an excited whisper, leaning across the aisle between their desks. "We did it! We got all the signatures we needed to formally petition for a review of Professor Lockhart's teaching methods!"
Harry blinked, dragging his attention back to the present. "That's... great, Hermione. Really."
Right, the Lockhart situation. Because incompetent Defense professors are definitely the priority when there's a legendary monster loose in the castle.
"Two hundred and fifty-three signatures," Hermione continued proudly. "Even some of the Slytherins signed it, which I honestly wasn't expecting. Astoria is amazing."
"Lockhart's incompetence transcends House boundaries," Harry replied absently, his mind still turning over what Ron had said about Ginny's behavior. "Universal recognition of his complete lack of qualifications is probably the closest thing to inter-House unity we'll see this century."
Sebastian snorted with amusement. "You should put that on his evaluation form."
McGonagall's sharp voice cut through their whispered conversation. "Mr. Potter, Mr. Sallow, Miss Granger—unless your discussion relates directly to the theoretical applications of cross-species transfiguration, I suggest you focus on your practical work."
"Sorry, Professor," they chorused, returning their attention to their beetles.
But Harry's mind was elsewhere, spinning through increasingly concerning possibilities. Luna had been worried about Ginny. Ron confirmed his sister was acting strangely. Both girls were now missing. And somewhere in the castle, a basilisk was prowling through the walls, waiting for its next victim.
Please let them be somewhere safe, Harry thought desperately. Please let Luna's weird insights have led them away from danger instead of toward it.
The rest of the class passed in a blur of mechanical spell-casting and growing anxiety. Harry's subsequent beetle transformations were flawless, but he couldn't have described the process if his life depended on it. His entire focus was on the puzzle of two missing girls and a monster that killed with a glance.
When McGonagall finally dismissed them, Harry was the first one out of his seat.
Harry stared at his schedule with the sort of existential dread usually reserved for facing a horde of Dementors. Two consecutive Defense Against the Dark Arts periods with Gilderoy Lockhart. Two full hours of listening to the man's insufferable ego while Harry's mind was occupied with missing friends and prowling basilisks.
Fantastic. Just what I need when I'm trying to solve multiple life-threatening crises. Quality time with the wizarding world's most overrated fraud.
The Defense classroom was, as always, decorated with an obscene number of Lockhart's portraits, all of which seemed to be preening with particular enthusiasm today. The man himself stood at the front of the room, his robes a shade of blue that probably had some ridiculous name like "Sapphire Sophistication" or "Azure Audacity."
"Ah, my dear students!" Lockhart beamed as the mixed group of Slytherins and Gryffindors filed in. "Today marks a truly momentous occasion in the advancement of magical protection!"
Harry exchanged a look with Sebastian, who had taken the seat beside him. Daphne sat on Harry's other side, her expression already set in the sort of polite mask that suggested she was preparing for maximum secondhand embarrassment.
"Now, I know many of you have heard about young Mr. Potter's amateur attempts at talisman creation," Lockhart continued, and Harry felt his jaw clench. Amateur attempts? I'll show you amateur, you pompous git.
"But today, I shall demonstrate what true expertise can accomplish!" Lockhart produced a silver disk from his robes with the sort of flourish usually reserved for pulling rabbits from hats. "Behold—my own improved talisman design!"
The collective intake of breath from the students was not, Harry noted with professional disdain, one of admiration. The talisman in Lockhart's hands looked like something a first-year might cobble together after reading half a chapter on protective enchantments. The runes were barely visible, etched so shallowly they probably wouldn't hold any magical charge at all. The silver itself looked cheap and poorly worked, and the whole thing gave off the sort of unstable magical resonance that suggested it was one strong hex away from spectacular failure.
Oh, this is going to be good, Harry thought with grim anticipation.
"As you can see," Lockhart said, holding the pathetic excuse for a protective device up to the light, "my years of experience in facing dark creatures have enabled me to create something far superior to anything currently available. The runes alone represent months of research into advanced protective theory."
Harry had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing out loud. Those weren't advanced protective runes—they were basic deflection charms arranged in a pattern that would create magical interference rather than harmony. If someone actually tried to use that thing in combat, it would probably explode in their face.
Actually, that gives me an idea...
"Now, I'm sure Mr. Potter here is deeply impressed by the sophistication of my craftsmanship," Lockhart continued, turning toward Harry with that insufferable smile. "After all, one can always learn from observing true mastery at work."
The entire class turned to look at Harry, and he could feel the weight of their expectations. Sebastian's eyebrows had climbed toward his hairline, Daphne was watching with barely concealed anticipation, Draco seemed insulted and even the Gryffindors seemed to be holding their breath.
Right then. Time to remind everyone why I was sorted into Slytherin.
Harry stood up slowly, adopting the sort of respectful expression that wouldn't have looked out of place on a devoted student. "Professor Lockhart," he began, his voice carrying just the right note of admiration, "your innovation in completely bypassing traditional stability measures is... truly unprecedented."
Lockhart preened visibly. "Why, thank you, Mr. Potter! I do pride myself on thinking outside conventional boundaries."
"Indeed," Harry continued smoothly. "The way you've managed to make the runes so... unique... truly shows original thinking. I've never seen anything quite like the way you've arranged those deflection charms in direct opposition to each other."
"Ah, yes!" Lockhart beamed. "That's precisely the sort of advanced technique that separates professional work from amateur dabbling."
Harry could see Sebastian struggling not to laugh. Daphne had developed a sudden fascination with her quill, probably to hide her expression. Even Hermione was looking at Harry with a mixture of horror and reluctant admiration.
"The magical resonance patterns are particularly... bold," Harry added with just the right amount of awe in his voice. "I'm sure this talisman will provide exactly the protection its wearer deserves."
Which is to say, none whatsoever, followed by a spectacular magical explosion.
"Precisely!" Lockhart declared, apparently interpreting Harry's carefully worded warning as enthusiastic praise. "This talisman represents the cutting edge of protective magic!"
"Professor," Harry said, his tone shifting to one of eager curiosity, "would it be possible to see a demonstration? I'm sure everyone would love to witness the superior protection your design provides."
Several students nodded enthusiastically, though Harry suspected their motivations were similar to his own. Nothing quite like watching an overconfident fraud get his comeuppance in spectacular fashion.
Lockhart's smile faltered slightly. "Well, naturally a demonstration would be... that is to say, perhaps we should save such advanced magic for a more appropriate time..."
Of course, he's trying to back out now. Can't have his precious reputation damaged by actual testing.
"Oh, but Professor," Harry pressed, his voice taking on the sort of disappointed tone that suggested Lockhart was failing to live up to expectations, "surely such a masterfully crafted talisman could handle a simple demonstration? Perhaps just a basic Stunning Spell to show its defensive capabilities?"
"Yes!" Hermione chimed in unexpectedly. "I'd love to see how your advanced techniques compare to standard protective charms."
"Me too," Sebastian added with suspicious enthusiasm. "It would be educational to observe such superior craftsmanship in action."
Lockhart looked increasingly uncomfortable as more students voiced their agreement. Harry could practically see the man's vanity warring with his self-preservation instincts.
Time to tip the scales.
"Of course," Harry said with apparent understanding, "if the talisman isn't quite ready for testing yet, that's perfectly understandable. Advanced magical engineering does require extensive refinement before practical application."
The implication hit Lockhart like a Bludger to the ego. His face reddened slightly, and Harry could see him puffing up with indignation.
"Not ready?" Lockhart sputtered. "My dear boy, this talisman is the pinnacle of protective magic! Of course it's ready for demonstration!"
Hook, line, and sinker.
"Wonderful!" Harry exclaimed. "Should I cast the test spell, or would you prefer to demonstrate the talisman's capabilities yourself?"
For a moment, Lockhart looked like he might suggest having a student hold the talisman during testing—probably the safest option from his perspective. But with the entire class watching expectantly, his vanity won out over his survival instincts.
"Naturally, I shall demonstrate it myself," Lockhart declared, clutching the talisman to his chest. "After all, who better to showcase superior magical craftsmanship than its creator?"
This is going to be beautiful.
Harry drew his wand with the sort of reverent care usually reserved for handling priceless artifacts. "Should I start with something simple? Perhaps a basic Stinging Hex?"
"Nonsense!" Lockhart waved dismissively. "My talisman can handle far more sophisticated attacks than that. Try a proper Stunning Spell—show these students what real protection looks like!"
Oh, you absolute moron. You magnificent, vain, idiotic moron.
Harry aimed his wand carefully, making sure his angle would send the spell directly at the talisman rather than Lockhart himself. He wasn't trying to seriously injure the man, after all—just provide him with a much-needed lesson in humility.
"Stupefy!" Harry cast with precisely the right amount of magical force to trigger the talisman's unstable rune structure without causing permanent damage.
The red bolt of the Stunning Spell struck Lockhart's talisman dead center, and for a brief moment, nothing happened. Then the poorly arranged runes began to glow with increasingly unstable light, the magical interference patterns Harry had identified earlier reaching critical resonance.
Lockhart's triumphant smile lasted exactly three seconds before his masterpiece exploded in his face.
The blast wasn't particularly powerful—more like a large Dungbomb than anything truly dangerous—but it was certainly spectacular. Silver fragments scattered across the classroom, a cloud of acrid smoke filled the air, and Lockhart himself was launched backward into his own desk with a tremendous crash.
When the smoke cleared, Lockhart lay sprawled among the wreckage of his workspace, his perfect hair singed and sticking up at odd angles, his face covered in soot, and his precious robes torn and smoking. The remains of his "superior" talisman lay scattered around him like the world's most expensive confetti.
The classroom was dead silent for about five seconds. Then Hermione started to applaud.
Within moments, the entire class had erupted in enthusiastic applause, though Harry noticed most of the students were trying to hide their grins behind their hands. Even Hermione looked like she was struggling not to laugh.
"Professor Lockhart," Harry said with the sort of concerned innocence that wouldn't have fooled a first-year, "are you quite alright? I do hope my spell wasn't too advanced for the talisman to handle."
Lockhart struggled to his feet, swaying slightly and blinking owlishly at the destruction around him. "I... that is... the talisman performed exactly as... there must have been some sort of..."
"Magical interference from the poorly aligned runic matrices," Harry supplied helpfully. "It's a common problem when deflection charms are arranged in opposition rather than harmony. Creates unstable resonance patterns that can lead to catastrophic failure under magical stress."
The look of dawning comprehension—and horror—on Lockhart's face was worth every minute of the past two hours. He'd just been schooled in magical theory by a twelve-year-old, in front of an entire class, using his own failed experiment as a teaching aid.
"Class dismissed," Lockhart mumbled, apparently deciding that retreat was the better part of valor.
As students filed out of the classroom, Harry found himself surrounded by congratulations from both Houses.
"That was absolutely brilliant," Daphne murmured as they gathered their books. "The way you maneuvered him into testing his own shoddy work..."
"Pure Slytherin cunning," Sebastian agreed with obvious admiration. "Lockhart never even realized he was being manipulated."
"Not bad, Potter." Draco mumbled under his breath before walking away with his two idiots.
Even some of the Gryffindors approached Harry as they left the classroom.
"That was wicked," one of them said with obvious respect. "It's a shame you're not in Gryffindor—we could use that kind of strategic thinking."
Though I should probably focus on more important things than humiliating incompetent professors, Harry reminded himself as they headed toward the Great Hall. Like finding Luna and Ginny before something terrible happens to them.
Still, as stress relief went, watching Lockhart's talisman explode in his face had been remarkably therapeutic. Sometimes the small victories were what kept you going when facing larger battles.
Now, time to get back to the real crisis. Missing friends and prowling basilisks don't solve themselves, unfortunately.
The Great Hall
The Great Hall buzzed with its usual dinner-time energy as Harry made his way to the Slytherin table, though he barely noticed the floating candles or the appetizing smells wafting from the platters of food. His eyes swept the room systematically, checking each House table for familiar faces.
There, he spotted Luna sitting with her fellow Ravenclaws, but she wasn't smiling; she looked pale and concerned.
But a quick scan of the Gryffindor table revealed a conspicuous gap where Ginny Weasley should have been sitting. Ron was there, looking unusually subdued as he pushed food around his plate without eating. The twins were engaged in what looked like a heated whispered argument. But no sign of their younger sister.
One found, one still missing. That's... not particularly reassuring.
Harry slid into his usual seat between Sebastian and Anna, barely acknowledging their greetings as he continued to watch the Ravenclaw table.
"You look like you're planning someone's murder," Daphne observed from across the table, following his gaze toward Luna. "Should I be concerned about inter-House diplomatic incidents?"
"Just trying to solve a puzzle," Harry replied absently, finally turning his attention to his friends.
"Word about Lockhart's explosive demonstration has already spread through half the castle. The man's going to be finding silver fragments in his hair for weeks. Good job, Harry." Astoria said with a burst of excitement.
Harry was about to respond when an unusual hush fell over the Great Hall. Conversations died mid-sentence, forks paused halfway to mouths, and even the ghosts seemed to stop their eternal wandering to look toward the High Table.
Professor Dumbledore had risen from his chair, and his expression was more grave than Harry had ever seen it.
This isn't good. Whatever's coming, it's not good.
"Students of Hogwarts," Dumbledore began, his voice carrying clearly through the now-silent hall, "I am afraid I must share news of the most serious nature."
Harry felt his stomach drop. Around him, he could sense his friends tensing, preparing for whatever bombshell was about to fall.
"Earlier this evening, another incident occurred in connection with the Chamber of Secrets," Dumbledore continued, each word measured and careful. "However, this attack differs significantly from those we have experienced thus far."
Different how? Please don't let it be a death. Please don't let someone have looked directly at the basilisk.
"I'm sure some of you have noticed that Ginerva Weasley is not with us. Miss Ginevra Weasley has not been petrified," Dumbledore said, and Harry felt a moment of relief before the headmaster's next words destroyed any hope he might have held. "She has been taken into the Chamber of Secrets itself."
The silence that followed was deafening. Then, as if a dam had burst, the Great Hall erupted into chaos.
Students leaped to their feet, voices rising in panic and fear. At the Gryffindor table, Ron Weasley had gone bone white and swayed in his seat like he might faint. The twins flanked him immediately, their usual mischievous expressions replaced by naked terror.
"She's been taken?" someone screamed from the Hufflepuff table. "How do we know she's still alive?"
"We're all going to die!" a first-year Gryffindor wailed, apparently deciding that panic was the most productive response to the crisis.
Harry watched the chaos with detached analytical clarity while his mind raced through the implications. Ginny taken into the Chamber itself meant she wasn't a random victim of the basilisk's wanderings. Someone—or something—had deliberately brought her there.
"SILENCE!" Dumbledore's voice cut through the pandemonium like a blade, magically amplified to carry over the din. "I understand your fear, but panic will serve no one."
The hall gradually quieted, though Harry could still hear muffled sobs and whispered conversations throughout the room.
"The Ministry has been contacted," Dumbledore continued once he had everyone's attention again. "A team of curse-breakers and Aurors will arrive tomorrow morning to search for the Chamber's entrance. However..." His pause seemed to stretch for an eternity. "If Miss Weasley is not recovered within twenty-four hours, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry will be closed permanently."
Permanently. The word hit Harry like a hex. No more Hogwarts meant no more access to his workshop, no more research materials, no more chance of solving his talisman problem before the Italian Ministry deadline. It meant the end of everything he'd been working toward.
More importantly, Harry forced himself to think, it means Ginny Weasley dies in that Chamber while adults argue about the best way to find an entrance that's been hidden for a thousand years.
The chaos resumed with renewed intensity. Owls began appearing as students summoned them to send desperate letters to their families. Several younger students were openly weeping, and even some of the older ones looked ready to bolt for the doors.
At the High Table, Professor Snape had risen and was surveying his House with the sort of cold authority that could quell riots. His black eyes found Harry's across the room, and there was something in that gaze that suggested he expected his Slytherins to handle this crisis with more dignity than the other Houses were managing.
"All Slytherin students will return to their dormitories immediately," Snape announced, his voice cutting through the noise. "You will pack your belongings and prepare for possible departure tomorrow evening. No exceptions, no delays."
Harry rose with the rest of his House, his mind already working through possibilities. If the school was closing tomorrow night, he had perhaps eighteen hours to find the Chamber, rescue Ginny, and deal with whatever was controlling the basilisk.
Eighteen hours to solve a mystery that's stumped the greatest wizards for fifty years.
As the Slytherins filed out of the Great Hall in unusually subdued silence, Harry noticed Luna at the Ravenclaw table. She was still sitting calmly, though her wide eyes were fixed on him.
Their gazes met across the chaos, and Luna gave him the slightest nod. Not a greeting, not acknowledgment—a confirmation. She knew he was going to do something monumentally stupid and dangerous, and she approved.
The crowd of students pressed around Harry as they moved toward the exit, and he let himself be carried along with the flow while keeping a careful eye on Professor Snape's position. The man was too experienced to be easily fooled, but in this chaos, even Snape's attention was divided.
Just need to wait for the right moment. Once we're in the corridors, there'll be enough confusion to slip away unnoticed.
Harry's hand found Itisa through the fabric of his robes, feeling her warm weight against his side. Whatever was waiting in the Chamber of Secrets, at least he wouldn't be facing it alone.
As they reached the Great Hall's entrance, Harry caught a glimpse of Ron Weasley being supported by his brothers, the boy's face streaked with tears and his whole body shaking. The sight sent a spike of determination through Harry's chest.
Ginny's not going to die in that Chamber. Not if I can help it.
The corridor outside the Great Hall was a river of frightened students and harried professors trying to maintain some semblance of order. Harry waited until they reached a particularly crowded section near the marble staircase, then simply stepped sideways into an alcove and let the stream of Slytherins continue without him.
Sorry, Professor Snape. Dormitory detention will have to wait. I've got a basilisk to find.
Harry moved through the castle corridors with the sort of practiced stealth that came from two years of sneaking around Hogwarts after curfew. The chaos from dinner had spread throughout the school—he could hear raised voices from various common rooms, the sound of frantic packing, and the occasional sob echoing from hidden alcoves where students had gone to process the terrible news in private.
He was halfway to the abandoned bathroom when a familiar figure emerged from a side corridor, moving with the sort of dreamy stealth that somehow made Luna Lovegood nearly invisible despite her distinctive appearance. She spotted Harry immediately, as if she'd been expecting to find him wandering the halls instead of safely tucked away in his dormitory.
"We must save Ginny," Luna said without preamble, her usually vague expression replaced by something sharp and determined.
Harry blinked at her directness. "Luna, thank Merlin. Where have you been all day? I've been looking everywhere for you and Ginny."
"Looking for Ginny," Luna replied simply, falling into step beside him as they continued toward their destination. "She's been even more nervous these past few days. More than usual, I mean. Her magical signature has been... flickering."
"Did you find her?" Harry asked.
Luna nodded, her expression growing troubled. "I found her in the second-floor bathroom—the one where Myrtle lives. She was crying, really sobbing, and she kept saying 'it's the diary, it's all the diary's fault.' She wouldn't explain what she meant, just kept crying and saying she couldn't stop it."
Harry felt something cold settle in his stomach; he remembered Ronald saying the same thing. "A diary?"
"Something black and old-looking. She was clutching it like it was precious and terrifying at the same time." Luna's voice took on that distant quality that meant she was remembering something particularly unsettling. "I tried to comfort her, tell her that whatever was wrong could be fixed. I turned my back for just a moment to get her some tissue from one of the stalls, and then everything went dark."
"When I woke up," Luna continued, "there were words written in blood on the wall, and Ginny was gone. Just... vanished."
Harry stopped walking. "Words in blood?"
"'Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever,'" Luna quoted with disturbing calm. "I went straight to Professor Flitwick and told him everything. He contacted Dumbledore immediately."
A diary that makes a young girl act strangely, then she disappears with a message about dying in the Chamber.
They'd reached the corridor leading to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, and Harry found himself wondering what sort of diary could influence someone's behavior so dramatically. Dark artifacts were certainly possible—he'd read about cursed objects that could influence their owners' minds—but most required prolonged exposure to have any significant effect. For years at a time.
Unless it wasn't just any diary. Unless it was something specifically designed to manipulate and control.
The abandoned bathroom looked exactly as unwelcoming as always—out-of-order sign firmly in place, the general aura of decay and neglect that kept most students well away. Perfect for housing both a depressed ghost and, apparently, the entrance to a legendary chamber of horrors.
"Myrtle?" Luna called softly as they entered. "We need to speak with you."
The ghost materialized almost immediately, rising through the floor with her usual theatrical flair. Her silvery form was more solid than Harry had seen it before.
"Oh, it's you again," Myrtle said, her tone managing to be both suspicious and pleased. "The strange girl who can see things others can't. And you brought the Slytherin boy." Her expression shifted to something more calculating. "Have you come to mock me too? Everyone always comes here to mock poor Myrtle."
"Actually," Luna said gently, "we came to ask about your death."
Myrtle's expression immediately shuttered, her ghostly form flickering with agitation. "I don't want to talk about it. It was horrible and embarrassing and everyone always makes fun of me for dying in a bathroom."
"We're not here to make fun of you," Harry said carefully. "We think what happened to you fifty years ago might be connected to what's happening now."
"Of course it's connected!" Myrtle shrieked. "It's the same monster, isn't it? The same horrible creature that killed me is back to kill more students! But does anyone ask Myrtle what she knows? Does anyone think the ghost who actually died might have useful information?"
Luna stepped closer to Myrtle, her head tilted in that particular way that meant she was seeing something others couldn't. "Your cord is red," she observed quietly. "Very red. That means regret."
Myrtle went completely still, her silvery eyes fixed on Luna with something approaching wonder. "You can see it? My cord?"
"It's red," Luna observed, tilting her head. "Deep red, like old blood. That means regret, usually. And it anchors you right there—to the center of this bathroom."
The center of the bathroom. Near the sinks.
"How can you see it?" Myrtle whispered. "Nobody's ever been able to see my cord before."
"My mother had the Sight," Luna explained matter-of-factly. "She could see the connections between living things and magical places. She taught me to look for them before she died. Your cord means you're tied to this place by something unfinished, something you regret."
Myrtle's expression crumpled, and for a moment she looked less like a half-century-old ghost and more like the frightened teenage girl she'd been when she died.
"I was hiding," she whispered, the words coming out in a rush. "Olive Hornby had been making fun of my glasses again, calling me 'four-eyes' and 'specky' in front of everyone. So I ran here to cry where nobody would see me."
Harry felt an unexpected pang of sympathy. He'd dealt with his own share of bullies growing up with the Dursleys, though at least his tormentors hadn't followed him to school. Though he couldn't help but remember Hermione being in a similar position last year, he didn't want to think about what would happen if he hadn't been there to save her.
"I was in that stall there," Myrtle continued, pointing to one of the bathroom stalls, "feeling sorry for myself and wishing I was brave enough to stand up to her. Then I heard someone come in—a boy, speaking in this strange language I'd never heard before."
Parseltongue, Harry realized. She heard someone speaking to the basilisk in Parseltongue.
"I was going to tell him this was the girls' bathroom, that he shouldn't be here," Myrtle went on, her voice growing distant with memory. "So I opened the stall door, and there he was by those sinks, talking to them like they could understand him."
Harry's attention sharpened. "The sinks?"
"Yes, the sinks. He was saying something in that strange hissing language, and one of them was... changing, somehow. Opening." Myrtle's form shuddered. "Then he turned around, and I saw his face. Handsome boy, he was. Dark hair, probably a prefect from his badge. He looked surprised to see me, maybe even sorry."
Tom Riddle. It had to be Tom Riddle.
"What happened then?" Luna prompted gently.
"That's when I saw them," Myrtle whispered. "Great yellow eyes, bigger than dinner plates, looking at me from near the sinks. And then..." She gestured helplessly. "Then I was dead."
The bathroom fell silent except for the steady drip of water from one of the taps. Harry found himself imagining the scene—a lonely, frightened girl facing a legendary monster because she'd been brave enough to confront what she thought was a rule-breaking student.
Luna was still studying Myrtle with that intense focus, her head tilted thoughtfully. "Your cord is still very red," she observed. "What regrets do you carry?"
"That's none of your business!" Myrtle snapped.
"It is if we're going to help," Luna replied with uncharacteristic firmness. "Regrets are chains, Myrtle. They keep you trapped in patterns that don't serve you. What are you really sorry about?"
"I..." Myrtle's form flickered, her usual defensive anger warring with something deeper. "Mind your own business, you strange girl!"
But Luna didn't back down. She rarely did when something truly mattered to her. "You're not sorry about dying, are you? Death was just the end result. You're sorry about how you lived."
"Stop it!" Myrtle wailed, tears were beginning to stream down her translucent cheeks.
"Your biggest regret isn't dying, is it?" Luna asked. "It's that you never stood up for yourself when you were alive."
"YES!" Myrtle screamed, her form blazing brighter with emotional intensity. "I spent my whole life hiding from people like Olive Hornby. Running away, crying in empty bathrooms, wishing I was different. And when I finally tried to do something brave—just tell a boy he was in the wrong place—it killed me."
"But you were brave," Harry found himself saying. "You saw something unusual and tried to address it instead of just hiding. That took courage."
"Did it?" Myrtle looked at him with desperate hope. "I always thought... I always thought I died because I was a coward who was too afraid to stand up to a bully."
"You died because a monster killed you," Luna said firmly. "That's not your fault, and it doesn't make you a coward. It makes you a victim of something terrible."
She collapsed onto the floor, sobbing with the kind of raw pain that transcended death itself.
"There's more," Luna said softly, kneeling beside Myrtle's crying form. "Something else you regret. Something about a person."
Myrtle's sobbing intensified. "There was... there was a boy. James Lawren. He was a second-year when I was in first year. He was kind to me sometimes, when no one else was looking. He'd smile at me in the corridors, help me pick up my books when Olive knocked them down."
Harry felt his heart clench.
"I liked him," Myrtle whispered. "I liked him so much, but I was too scared to tell him. Too scared he'd laugh at me like everyone else did. So I never said anything, never let him know how I felt."
"And?" Luna prompted gently.
"After I died," Myrtle's voice broke completely, "I found out he'd liked me too. He was the only one who noticed I was missing. Everyone else didn't care, but he looked for me. He found my... my body here in the bathroom."
The silence that followed was heavy with decades of regret and loss.
"He cried," Myrtle continued through her tears. "He actually cried when he found me. And I realized that if I'd just been brave enough to talk to him, to be honest about my feelings, maybe things would have been different. Maybe I wouldn't have been alone in this bathroom when the monster came."
Luna's expression was soft with understanding. "You've been punishing yourself all these years, haven't you? Staying in the place where you felt most ashamed, reliving that moment of cowardice over and over."
"I deserved it," Myrtle whispered. "I was weak and pathetic and—"
"You were young and scared," Luna corrected firmly. "You were a child who was being bullied, and you responded the way many children do—by hiding. That doesn't make you weak or pathetic. It makes you human."
As Luna spoke, Harry noticed something remarkable happening. The air around Myrtle seemed to shimmer slightly, and though he couldn't see the cord Luna had mentioned, he could sense something shifting in the ghost's energy.
"You can't change what happened," Luna continued, "but you can choose what it means. You can let it define you as a victim, or you can honor that frightened girl by being brave now, when it matters."
Myrtle looked up at Luna with something like wonder. "You... you really think I could be brave?"
"I think you already are," Luna replied. "You've stayed here all these years, haven't you? Stayed to watch over this place, to witness what happens here. That's a kind of courage, even if it doesn't feel like it."
Harry watched in fascination as the shimmer around Myrtle shifted, the oppressive weight in the bathroom lifting slightly.
"The cord," Luna said with satisfaction. "It's turning blue now. Sadness instead of regret. That's progress, Myrtle. That's healing."
Myrtle wiped her translucent eyes, looking more peaceful than Harry had ever seen her. "Thank you," she whispered. "No one's ever... no one's ever helped me understand before."
"I know what that is like, I used to not understand myself, but one day I found my dear friend, and everything made sense." Harry said, and Itisa let out a meow, purring against his leg.
"You're not like the other students, are you? I can tell. You understand what it's like to be different," Myrtle said with a half-smile.
"I know what it's like to be stared at, whispered about. To have people expect things from you that you're not sure you can deliver." Harry said.
"At least they expect great things from you. They expected nothing from me but to disappear quietly."Myrtle said, more tears rolling down her face.
"But you didn't disappear, did you? You stayed. You've been watching over this place for fifty years. That takes a different kind of courage."
"I've been so angry for so long. Angry at everyone who lived when I didn't, who got chances I never had."Myrtle confessed with a look of shame.
"Anger can eat you alive—whether you're living or dead. But helping us tonight, that's choosing something better than anger."Harry said with an understanding tone.
"Maybe this is why I stayed. Not to punish myself, but to be here when someone needed the truth about what happened."Myrtle added with more determination in her voice.
"Maybe it is. Maybe everything that happened led to this moment, to you being able to help save Ginny." Luna added, looking like she wanted to hug Myrtle.
"Now," Harry said gently, not wanting to interrupt the moment but knowing they were running out of time, "can you show us exactly where you saw those yellow eyes?"
Myrtle nodded, floating over to hover above a specific sink—an ornate brass fixture that looked older than the others surrounding it. "Right here. The eyes were right here, by this sink."
Harry approached the sink she'd indicated, examining it carefully. At first glance, it looked completely ordinary—white porcelain, brass taps, the general wear and tear of decades of use. But as he looked more closely, he could make out a faint carving on one of the taps: a tiny snake, so small and weathered it was barely visible.
Found you.
"Myrtle," Harry said softly, "the boy you saw—do you remember exactly what he said to the sink?"
"It was all hissing," Myrtle replied uncertainly. "Like a snake, but... more. Like he was having a conversation with something."
Harry nodded.
He placed his hand on the tap with the snake carving, feeling the cool metal under his palm.
"Open for me, reveal your secrets to me."
The tap began to glow with soft golden light, the snake carving seeming to come alive as it moved and shifted. The entire sink started to sink into the floor, revealing a large pipe opening that stretched down into darkness.
Well, Harry thought as he stared into the black depths that would presumably lead him to a thousand-year-old basilisk, this is either going to be the most heroic thing I've ever done, or the stupidest way I've ever nearly gotten myself killed.
"The Chamber of Secrets," Luna said with satisfaction.
Harry looked at the opening, then at Luna, then at Myrtle, who was staring at the revealed entrance with a mixture of vindication and terror.
"Luna go tell Professor Dumbledore. Itisa, you are with me." Luna nodded and stood up to leave while Itisa walked up to Harry.
"Harry." He turned to see Myrtle looking at him with a look of courage. "Please save Ginny. Don't let another girl die alone in this place."
"I will. I promise." Harry said before jumping into the hole.
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