Chapter 14 - Detective Luna

It had been nearly four months since the last petrification incident. Since then, the attacks had stopped, and life at Hogwarts had begun to return to a fragile kind of normal.

In that time, Vincent had opened a small food stall in front of his hut. He only operated it for about three hours each weekday, but that was more than enough—business was surprisingly good. He'd earned a decent stack of coins, most of which promptly disappeared into potion ingredients.

Now, he was up in the Quidditch stands, grilling hot dogs while Luna sat beside him, nibbling happily on one. It was the final match of the year, and Vincent wasn't about to miss the chance to make a little extra money.

"These are wonderful, Vince," Luna said between bites. "Are you sure I don't need to pay?"

"It's fine, Luna," Vincent smiled. "Consider it my treat. Anyway, you came pretty early."

"I don't really have anyone in my house to spend time with," she said lightly. Vincent frowned a little, but she added, "But that's fine with me. You're my friend—and that's all I need."

Her smile was soft but genuine, and only then did Vincent realize just how much she valued their friendship. In all of Hogwarts, he might have been the only person she really had. Neville spent most of his time with Dean and Seamus, and that left Luna mostly on her own.

"We'll always be friends," Vincent said, turning to her. "Promise."

"Thank you," Luna replied, gently stroking Blimp as the little pink snake coiled in her lap.

The match was taking unusually long to start. After a few moments of silence, Vincent turned to Luna again, more thoughtful now.

"Hey, Luna. Here's a rhetorical question for you," he said, watching the pitch idly. "How would you go about finding the Heir of Slytherin?"

She turned to him with curious eyes, and so Vincent began to share everything he and the trio had uncovered so far—the diary, the strange memory of Hagrid, the suspicions, the connections. He left nothing out. If there was anyone else he could trust, it was Luna.

Personally, Vincent had wanted to hand the diary over to Dumbledore the moment it showed Harry that strange vision. But for some reason, Harry had hesitated. He'd only agreed after repeated pestering from the group, saying he'd do it the next day.

But the next day never came.

A few weeks ago...

"Thanks for coming!" Vincent called out as he waved off the last of his customers and began closing up the small food stall in front of his hut.

He turned to find Theodore Nott waiting silently nearby.

"Theo, what do you need?" Vincent asked, tugging the shutters down.

"Can't I check in on a fellow potion-maker?" Nott replied in his usual flat tone. "Just wanted to see how that enhancement potion was coming along."

Vincent gave a small nod and reached into a crate beside the stall, pulling out a glass bottle filled with a bright green liquid.

Theodore Nott, a Slytherin often seen trailing after Malfoy's group, wasn't exactly friendly. But two months back, they'd struck up an odd rapport during Potions class—brief, technical conversations strictly about brewing. A week ago, Nott had asked Vincent to look over his potion formula and identify its flaws. Despite his bias against Muggle-borns, Nott clearly respected Vincent's potion skills.

"This version improves on the original quite a bit," Vincent explained, handing over the bottle. "The issue was that the potion wore off after a day and weakened the object afterward. I adjusted the ratio of unicorn hair and changed the stirring method. Now it lasts three full days, adds a bit more durability, and no weakening effect once it fades."

He handed over a sheet with the updated recipe. Nott took it without comment, nodding to himself as he read it.

"You know I don't like you," he said bluntly.

"Yeah, yeah," Vincent muttered as he locked the hut, "screw you too."

The two stared at each other for a moment before laughing under their breath.

Nott tossed Vincent a pouch of coins.

"Payment," he said simply, then turned and walked off before Vincent could object.

"He's prideful," Vincent said to Nyx, perched on his shoulder. Nyx gave a tiny shrug. Blimp, the pink snake, lazily spun small loops in the air.

Back in the castle, Vincent made his way to the Great Hall where Harry, Ron, and Hermione were huddled over their course selection forms for third year.

"Still picking?" he asked, sliding into the seat beside them. "You lot are taking your sweet time."

"Well," Ron grumbled, "if more than half the classes didn't need a wand, we'd be done too. There aren't many Muggle-friendly options, you know."

"Fair point," Vincent chuckled. He pulled a few wrapped hot dogs from his bag. "Anyone hungry?"

They vanished from his hands faster than he expected. He blinked at the scene—Ron inhaling his food was one thing, but Hermione too?

"Well, that was... efficient," he muttered, then shifted gears. "Have you given the diary to Dumbledore yet?"

"What do you… oh," Harry looked confused for a moment before glancing apologetically to Vincent. "My bad, I forgot about it.".

Vincent frowned. "You forgot? A bombshell as big as that?"

Silence settled around the group. Only Ron's chewing filled the space.

"I wish I could just drop Potions next year," Ron muttered, then blinked. "Wait—did I miss something?"

The others sighed in unison.

Later, as they made their way toward the dorms, Neville ran into them, looking anxious.

"Harry—I don't know who did it—I just found—"

He led them upstairs, pushing open the door to the boys' dormitory.

The place had been completely torn apart. Harry's belongings were scattered across the floor. His cloak lay shredded, bedclothes yanked from his four-poster. The drawer of his bedside table had been wrenched out, its contents strewn everywhere.

"What happened?" Hermione asked, stepping into the room.

"Wait," Vincent said, glancing at her. "Can girls even come in here?"

"Apparently, girls are considered more trustworthy than boys," she said. "They can come into the boys' dorms, but not the other way around. But seriously, what happened?"

Harry was already rifling through the mess.

"Riddle's diary," he said, pale. "It's gone."

Neville looked confused, but Harry just shook his head. "Don't worry about it, Neville."

Vincent, Ron, and Hermione all turned to Harry, who shrank somewhat under their accusing stares.

"I was going to do it, I really was," Harry muttered, then paused. His fingers drifted up to his scar as he rubbed it absently. "That's… weird. Why did I forget? No—why didn't I give it to him like you said?"

Present day…

Since the theft, Vincent and the others had quietly been trying to figure out who could have taken the diary. But with no leads, no witnesses, and nothing left behind—not even magical residue—their investigation quickly stalled.

Still, Vincent hadn't been idle. He'd shared with the trio what Hagrid had told him in private—that he'd been expelled for raising a creature that didn't match the description of the beast in the attacks at all. It was clear the evidence against Hagrid had always been shaky at best.

And if that story was a lie… then the diary couldn't be trusted either.

Tom Riddle's diary was suspicious.

It had shown up far too conveniently—claiming to hold information about the Chamber of Secrets, though it only ever offered a one-sided narrative. And then it vanished. Stolen.

Strangest of all, the attacks had stopped. Just like that. Harry hadn't even heard so much as a whisper during the past few weeks.

Luna sat beside him in the Quidditch stands, swinging her legs as she nibbled on the last bit of a hot dog. Nyx and Blimp managed the small cart below, exchanging food for coin as students filled the stands for the final match of the year.

"Since we don't have anything concrete, let's start this off with an assumption," Luna glanced at Vincent. "Namely, that Tom Riddle was the one who opened the Chamber of Secret's all those years ago. I presume the thought has crossed you're mind once or twice during the past couple of months."

Vincent remained silent as he listened intently. He gave a nod as Luna continued.

"The diary was taken from the Gryffindor dorms, then that means the person who stole it was either in the Tower or had access to it."

"Right," Vincent said. "Which narrows things down. But the biggest question is why? What was so important in that diary that someone had to steal it?"

Luna brushed her hands clean, her eyes narrowing in thought. "The attacks stopped even before Harry had it. I'm not too sure on the reason for that, but once they realized someone else had the diary… they panicked."

"Afraid we'd figure it out," Vincent said. "That the diary could be used to track them, or reveal the truth."

She nodded. "So they stole it. And if Riddle really is the one who opened the Chamber fifty years ago…"

"…Then the diary could tell someone else how to do it," Vincent finished grimly. "It's not just memories—it's instructions."

"Which means the culprit might not even know how to open the Chamber on their own," Luna said. "They're following Riddle's lead."

Vincent frowned. "That raises another issue—we still don't know where the Chamber even is. We've looked through floor plans, magical maps, student rumors… nothing. You'd think with all the spells and wards on this place, someone would've found something by now."

"Unless the entrance is protected by magic older than the school's enchantments," Luna murmured. "Or maybe it only opens under very specific conditions."

Vincent shook his head in frustration. "We're chasing shadows. No location, no suspect, no way to confirm anything. And now, someone else has the diary."

Luna tilted her head. "Do you think Harry might've been affected by it? Maybe that's why he hesitated to hand it over."

"…It's possible," Vincent said after a pause. It never occurred to him that the diary had such abilities. "The way he reacted when he remembered forgetting—like the thought had been pushed out of his head. That's not normal."

Luna didn't respond for a moment. Then, softly, she asked, "Has anyone been acting strange lately? Anyone… off? Even just a little?"

Vincent considered the question. So many students had their own odd habits—strangeness wasn't rare at Hogwarts.

"Maybe—?" Vincent began, but was abruptly cut off by the sudden crackle of a megaphone.

Professor McGonagall strode onto the Quidditch pitch at the same time as the players took the field. She held the device with both hands, her face grave.

"This match has been cancelled," her voice boomed across the stadium.

A chorus of groans and boos erupted from the stands. Oliver Wood, pale and wide-eyed, landed hard and sprinted toward her, still clutching his broom.

"But, Professor!" he pleaded. "We've got to play — the Cup — Gryffindor —"

Professor McGonagall didn't even glance his way. She raised her voice again, firm and unyielding.

"All students are to return to their House common rooms, where your Heads of Houses will provide further instructions. Please make your way back quickly and calmly."

Vincent stood, frowning as McGonagall gestured for Harry to follow her. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

"Luna, I'm going to check what's happened," he said, getting a quiet nod of understanding. "Blimp, Nyx—come on."

He slipped through the dispersing crowd, catching Ron along the way. They exchanged a look and hurried after Harry, who was now heading up to the castle with McGonagall.

"Mr. Wong, Weasley—yes, come along as well," she said briskly without turning.

The tension in her voice gave Vincent a sinking feeling. He followed wordlessly until they reached the infirmary, where she paused just outside the doors.

"This will be a bit of a shock," she said softly. "There's been another attack. A double attack."

Vincent's heart dropped. He glanced sideways at Ron, who looked just as horrified. But it wasn't until the door opened that the full weight of her words hit him.

Inside, Madam Pomfrey was tending to a pale, unmoving fifth-year girl. But it was the figure in the next bed that made Vincent freeze.

It was Hermione.

She lay utterly still, her eyes wide open in fear, petrified mid-expression.

Ron let out a groan of disbelief as they all rushed forward.

"They were found near the library," McGonagall said, voice tight. "This was with them."

She held up a small mirror.

Harry and Ron shook their heads helplessly. Vincent didn't answer as he continued to stare silently at Hermione's still form—his expression completely cold.

…

"What happened?" Vincent asked sharply, golden eyes narrowing on Harry and Ron. "Why wasn't Hermione with either of you?"

Harry hesitated. "I heard the voice again," he said finally. "It said it would kill this time. I told them both, and… Hermione said she figured something out. She ran off to the library."

Vincent's fists clenched. "Whatever she found—it got her attacked."

"What do we do now?" Ron asked quietly, his voice almost drowned out by the murmuring of the other students. "You think they're going to pin it on Hagrid again?"

Vincent didn't respond right away. He stared into the fire, thinking.

He should have talked to Hagrid a bit more weeks ago. He'd wanted to—but something always stopped him. At first, it was just a matter of timing. The food stall kept him busy. Then came schoolwork, side projects. There was always a reason. But if he was being honest with himself, part of him just hadn't known how to bring it up.

After all, he had already made Hagrid relive the worst part of his life, how could he allow himself to do it again? Especially when you know they're innocent, but the world didn't give them that same grace?

Now, it might be too late.

"…We need to go see Hagrid," Vincent said at last, his voice low but firm. "Not just about the attacks. About Tom Riddle. About the diary."

He thought back to the theory he'd shared with Luna: that Riddle's diary hadn't just shown Harry the past—it had possibly taught someone how to open the Chamber. Whoever had it might be continuing what Riddle started fifty years ago.

But they still had too many gaps. The biggest one?

They still didn't even know where the Chamber of Secrets was.

Vincent stood abruptly. "We're going. Now."

If Hagrid knew anything—about Riddle, about the Chamber, or the creature he'd been blamed for—they had to hear it. Before the school shut down.

Before the attacker struck again.

"I think," Harry said quietly, "it's time I used my dad's old cloak again."

"…What?" Vincent blinked, caught off guard. "What cloak?"

Harry and Ron exchanged glances.

"Harry's got an invisibility cloak," Ron whispered.

Vincent's eyes widened. "You have a bloody invisibility cloak?!" He looked both astonished and slightly betrayed. "How is this the first I'm hearing about it?"

"Honestly, it's kind of saved our lives a few times," Ron admitted.

Vincent shook his head, equal parts amused and impressed. "Unbelievable. Alright—cloak up. We're getting answers tonight."

...

"Oh—what're you three doin' here?" Hagrid said, lowering the crossbow he'd had raised toward their faces just moments ago.

Vincent stepped forward. "Hagrid, are you okay?"

"It's nothin', nothin'," Hagrid muttered, clearly rattled. "Was just… expectin' someone else. Doesn't matter. Sit down, I'll make tea."

He turned abruptly, bumping into the table and knocking a teacup to the ground. It shattered beside Fang, who gave a startled bark.

"Hagrid." Vincent placed a hand on the man's arm. "What's going on?"

Hagrid looked at Vincent, Harry, and Ron—eyes heavy with something unsaid—but before he could speak, a knock sounded at the door.

Without a word, Hagrid tilted his head toward the far wall. The boys got the message and ducked under the Invisibility Cloak.

Hagrid opened the door, crossbow still in hand. Standing on the threshold was Professor Dumbledore. Beside him stood a short man in an oddly mismatched outfit—pinstriped suit, long cloak, scarlet tie, and a lime-green bowler hat tucked under his arm.

"That's Cornelius Fudge," Ron whispered. "Minister of Magic."

"Evenin', Hagrid," Fudge said grimly. "Four attacks now. We can't wait any longer. The Ministry has to act."

"I never—" Hagrid looked desperately at Dumbledore. "You know I'd never, Professor Dumbledore, sir—"

Dumbledore nodded solemnly. "Hagrid has my full confidence."

"I know, Albus, I know," Fudge muttered. "But I've got people breathing down my neck. Got to be seen doing something. If it turns out it wasn't him, he'll be back with a full apology—but I've got to take him in the meantime."

"Take me?" Hagrid asked, voice cracking. "Take me where?"

"Just… precautionary. A short stay," Fudge mumbled. "Not a punishment. If someone else is caught, you'll be let out immediately."

"Not Azkaban?" Hagrid choked.

"What's Azkaban?" Vincent whispered under the cloak.

"Wizard prison," Ron murmured back, pale. "The worst of the worst are kept there. It's—bad."

Another knock sounded. Dumbledore answered this one too.

Standing at the door, tall and radiating arrogance, was Lucius Malfoy. He stepped inside with the confidence of a man who believed the room belonged to him. His pale blond hair gleamed like ice. Fang growled, low and deep.

"Already here, Fudge?" Malfoy said, pleased. "Excellent."

"What're you doin' here?" Hagrid growled. "Get outta my house."

"My dear man," Lucius said silkily, brushing invisible dust from his shoulder. "I take no pleasure in being inside your… ah… hut. I merely came to speak with the Headmaster."

"And what business do you have with me, Lucius?" Dumbledore asked. Though his voice was even, his blue eyes were locked on Malfoy like twin flames.

"A dreadful thing, truly," Malfoy said, pulling out a scroll. "But the Board of Governors believes your presence is… no longer beneficial. This is an official Order of Suspension, signed by all twelve members."

Vincent felt his stomach twist.

"I'm afraid we feel you're losing your grip, Dumbledore," Malfoy continued lazily. "Two more attacks today. If things go on like this, we'll have no Muggle-borns left at Hogwarts. And speaking of which…"

He paused, letting the tension build.

"…One wonders about your decision to admit a Muggle student without Ministry approval. This… Vincent Wong."

Vincent's heart stopped. Harry and Ron tensed beside him.

Dumbledore didn't flinch. "Vincent Wong is a student of this school. He has earned his place here. You will not lay a hand on him."

Lucius blinked, thrown off for a heartbeat. He hadn't expected that level of pushback over him.

"I never said I would," he said quickly, forcing a smile. "I simply question the wisdom of inviting danger. We already have enough instability—"

"Then perhaps you should leave," Dumbledore cut in, voice sharp.

Fudge looked nervously between them. "Lucius, now really—Dumbledore suspended? Surely we can—"

"The appointment or suspension of the Headmaster is a matter for the Board," Malfoy said, recovering his poise. "Twelve votes are twelve votes."

Hagrid stood abruptly, his shaggy head brushing the ceiling. "An' how many of 'em votes came with threats, eh, Malfoy?!"

Malfoy's smirk didn't falter. "You'd do well not to raise your voice around Azkaban guards, Hagrid."

"You can't take Dumbledore!" Hagrid roared. "Take him away, and the Muggle-borns'll be next! There'll be killings!"

"Enough," Dumbledore said, the force in his voice quelling even Hagrid. "If the governors demand it, I shall step aside."

"No!" Hagrid protested again.

But Dumbledore didn't look away from Malfoy, didn't blink.

"I will only truly have left this school," he said clearly, "when none here are loyal to me. Help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it."

Malfoy visibly bristled. Dumbledore's gaze briefly flicked toward where Vincent stood hidden under the cloak.

"We'll miss your… eccentric management style," Malfoy said thinly.

"And Vincent?" Dumbledore asked.

Malfoy grimaced, clearly irritated. "He'll continue attending… until proven otherwise."

Dumbledore nodded once and strode out the door. Malfoy followed, sweeping his cloak behind him. Fudge lingered, eyes downcast, before slowly following.

But Hagrid held firm.

"If anyone wanted ter find out some stuff," he said thickly, voice low, "all they'd have ter do would be to follow the spiders. Tha'd lead 'em right. That's all I'm sayin'."

He slammed the door shut behind them.

The invisibility cloak came off.

"We're in serious trouble," Ron said hoarsely. "No Dumbledore? Might as well shut the school now."

"Not if we find the culprit first," Vincent muttered, mind spinning.

Hagrid's words echoed in his head.

Follow the spiders.

…Yeah. That didn't sound ominous at all.