Four days of enforced bed rest had given Harry ample time to think, plan, and grow thoroughly tired of Madam Pomfrey's hovering. When she finally declared him fit for "light activity"—which Harry interpreted as "anything that doesn't involve lifting heavy objects or casting complex magic"—his first priority was clear.
Time to check on my new business partner, Harry thought as he made his way through the castle corridors, Itisa padding silently beside him. And to establish some ground rules for our arrangement.
The walk to Myrtle's bathroom felt different this time. Instead of the desperate urgency that had driven him here a week ago, Harry moved calmly, deep in mind, thinking what he should do first with the skin once he got his hands on it. His magical core felt stable again, the tremors in his hands had finally stopped, and for the first time since the Chamber incident, he felt like himself again.
Well, he amended, like myself with a thousand-year-old basilisk as an ally and enough valuable materials to fund my own magical research institute. Slight improvement over the usual state of affairs.
As he approached the abandoned bathroom, Harry caught the sound of familiar voices echoing off the stone walls. He paused at the entrance, recognizing Luna's dreamy tones mixed with Myrtle's characteristically dramatic wailing.
"—told you, the cord isn't red anymore," Luna was saying patiently. "It's silver now. That means peace, not regret."
"But I spent fifty years wallowing!" Myrtle protested. "Fifty years of proper, dedicated wallowing! What am I supposed to do now that I'm at peace? Take up knitting?"
Harry cleared his throat as he entered the bathroom, noting the way both ghost and girl turned toward him with very different expressions. Luna's face lit up like a candle, while Myrtle's translucent features showed a mixture of gratitude and residual embarrassment.
"Harry!" Luna said cheerfully. "I was just explaining to Myrtle that personal growth doesn't have to end with death. Though I suppose technically, for her it began with death, so the metaphor gets a bit tangled."
"Luna," Harry said with genuine fondness, "you have the most unique way of looking at... well, everything."
Myrtle drifted closer, her silvery form seeming somehow less tragic than it had during their previous encounters. "I heard you killed the basilisk," she said quietly. "Is it true? Is she really gone?"
Harry felt a pang of guilt at the deception, but revealing the basilisk's survival would create more problems than it solved. "The basilisk will never harm anyone again," he said carefully. "I made sure of that."
"Thank you," Myrtle whispered, her voice carrying a weight of gratitude that made Harry's chest tighten. "Thank you for not letting another girl die alone in this place. For making sure no one else has to... to become like me."
"Everyone deserves to be remembered for more than how they died," Harry said softly. "You included, Myrtle."
Myrtle's eyes went red, and then she put her arms around him, but they were transparent and not solid. She stayed like that, like she was hugging him, and Harry put his arms around her, while making sure his arms wouldn't go through her. "I haven't hugged anyone for fifty years, I can almost feel your arms, Harry. Thank you." She said as she pulled away from him, her eyes red with a smile on her face.
Luna nodded approvingly. "See? Peace suits you much better than decades of melodramatic weeping. Though the weeping was quite impressive from a technical standpoint."
Myrtle actually giggled—a sound Harry was fairly certain no one had heard from her in fifty years. "I suppose I was rather good at it, wasn't I?"
"Legendary," Harry agreed with a smile. "But Luna's right. You deserve better than an eternity of sadness."
He turned to Luna, noting the way her protuberant eyes seemed to see far more than they should. "I don't suppose you'd mind giving Myrtle and me a few minutes of privacy? There are some things I need to take care of down here."
Luna's expression shifted to one of understanding mixed with curiosity. "Of course. Though do be careful, Harry. There are still echoes of old magic in this place, and not all of them are entirely settled."
After Luna departed with her characteristic dreamy drift, Harry approached the familiar sink with the small snake carving. Myrtle watched with obvious curiosity as he placed his hand on the brass fixture.
"Open," Harry said in Parseltongue, and he was sure he heard Myrtle flinch at the sound.
The sink descended into the floor, revealing the entrance to the vast pipe system that led to Salazar Slytherin's hidden chamber.
"That's how you got down there?" she asked with obvious awe, five days ago, when Harry had opened it. Myrtle had been busy crying to look at the hole when Harry went down there to save Ginny. "That's how Tom did it too, all those years ago. Though his Parseltongue sounded... colder somehow."
Interesting, Harry noted. Even as a memory, Riddle's magic carried traces of what he would become.
"I'll be back soon, stay here Itisa," Harry told Myrtle and Itisa as he prepared to descend. "Try not to flood any toilets while I'm gone."
"No promises!" Myrtle called cheerfully as Harry lowered himself into the pipe opening.
The journey down was considerably more comfortable this time. Without the desperate urgency of a rescue mission driving him, Harry was able to appreciate the engineering marvel that Salazar Slytherin had created. The pipe system was vast enough to accommodate a fully grown basilisk but smooth enough to allow rapid transit—a masterwork of magical construction that had survived a thousand years without maintenance.
Slytherin really was a genius, Harry reflected as he emerged into the main chamber. Evil, certainly, but brilliant nonetheless.
The Chamber of Secrets looked different in the absence of mortal peril. The towering serpentine columns still rose toward the shadowed ceiling, and Salazar Slytherin's carved face still dominated the far wall, but the oppressive atmosphere of malevolent magic had lifted. Instead, the chamber felt like what it probably was originally intended to be—a place of learning and magical research, hidden away from those who might not understand.
Now it just needs a proper cleanup and some decent lighting, Harry mused. Maybe a few comfortable chairs and a good tea service.
"Basilisk," Harry called in Parseltongue, his voice echoing through the vast space. "It's Harry Potter. Are you awake?"
The response came as a low rumble that seemed to emanate from the chamber walls themselves. Then, with movements that were surprisingly graceful for something so massive, the basilisk emerged from the shadows near Slytherin's statue.
She looked better than Harry had expected. The wounds from her battle with Itisa had clearly begun healing, though he could see the careful way she moved suggested she was still favoring her injured side. Most importantly, she kept her great eyes firmly closed—a gesture of respect and safety that Harry appreciated.
"Young Speaker," she said, her mental voice carrying warmth that would have seemed impossible from a creature of her reputation. "You have returned. I confess myself pleased by this development."
"I told you I would," Harry replied, settling cross-legged on the chamber floor in a gesture of trust and equality. "How are you feeling? Are your injuries healing properly?"
"Well enough," she answered with what might have been satisfaction. "My kind heals quickly, and the deepest wounds are already closing. I'm grateful you did not bring 'her' here."
"She is my friend, but since this is your home, I decided not to bring her here, but I might bring her one day." Harry quickly said. He was not yet sure what the basilisk meant when she said that Itisa was the enemy of all Life. Harry had heard from Newt himself that Nundus were always very hostile creatures; that might be the case, but Harry knew in his heart that Itisa was not that kind. She was good and beautiful.
"She is not your friend." The Basilisk said right away without hesitation.
Harry chose to ignore that. Instead, he focused on her wounds. "I'm glad to hear you are better," Harry said. "I wanted to discuss our arrangement, if you're willing. The partnership we spoke about."
"Speak," the basilisk said simply.
Harry took a breath, organizing his thoughts. "First, I want to assure you that I have no intention of treating you as a tool or a weapon. You're free to refuse any request I make, and I'll respect your decisions. This is a partnership between equals, not servitude."
The basilisk's massive head tilted slightly—a gesture of surprise. "You would give me choice in all things? Even when it might conflict with your desires?"
"Especially then," Harry said firmly. "Freedom without the right to disagree isn't freedom at all."
There was a long pause as the basilisk considered this. "You are... unusual, young Speaker. Most who can command my kind seek only obedience."
"I'm not most people," Harry replied with a slight smile. "Which brings me to my first request. I've been working on magical protection devices—talismans—and basilisk materials would be invaluable for certain applications. Would you be willing to allow me to collect your shed skin and scales? I understand you molt every decade."
"You wish to use my castoffs for your magical workings?" The basilisk's mental voice carried amusement. "Of course, young Speaker. I have shed enough skin over the centuries to carpet this entire chamber several times over. Take what you need—there is more than enough for decades of your projects."
Sweet Salazar's serpents, Harry thought with excitement. Decades worth of basilisk materials. The Italian Ministry contract will be the least of what I can accomplish.
"Thank you," Harry said sincerely. "I promise to use them responsibly and only for protective magic, never for harm."
"I believe you," the basilisk said simply. "Though I have a request of my own, if you would hear it."
"Of course."
"I have spent a thousand years in these chambers, young Speaker. A thousand years of solitude, broken only by the occasional rat or the commands of those who would use me as a weapon. I find myself... curious about the world above. Would it be possible for me to venture beyond these walls occasionally? Under proper precautions, naturally."
Harry blinked in surprise. He'd been prepared for requests for better food, more comfortable accommodations, perhaps magical entertainment. He hadn't expected wanderlust.
"You want to see the outside world?" he asked.
"I have not seen the outside world for a very long time. I have forgotten what it looks like. I have heard of forests and fields, of skies that change color and weather that brings variety to existence. I would like to experience these things, if only briefly and with care taken that no one comes to harm."
A basilisk field trip, Harry thought with a mixture of amusement and concern. This is either going to be brilliant or catastrophic. Knowing my luck, probably both.
"We'd have to be very careful," Harry said slowly. "Your gaze is still lethal, and your size makes hiding difficult. But... yes, I think we could arrange something. Perhaps at night, in remote areas where we wouldn't encounter anyone else."
The basilisk's pleasure was palpable. "You would do this? You would show me the world beyond these stones?"
"Partners help each other achieve their goals," Harry said with a smile. "And everyone deserves to see sunlight, even if they have to be careful about who else might be around to see it."
"Young Speaker," the basilisk said with something approaching affection, "I begin to understand why the ancient magics have chosen to favor you. You think like a true Slytherin—with cunning, but also with wisdom like a Ravenclaw, you came here, you showed courage, like a Gryffindor, and you came here to save a friend, that's the Hufflepuff in you."
"I have one more question," Harry said.
"Ask away." The Basilisk simply said.
"My name is Harry Potter, not young speaker, and I would like to know your name, too. I doubt it's Basilisk, is it?" Harry said with a smile. Unless Salazar had a dry sense of humor, Harry thought to himself, and almost chuckled at his own joke.
The Basilisk looked surprised to hear that request, and there was a sudden sadness in her expression despite her eyes being closed. "Master Slytherin gave me a name a long time ago, but after his...death, no one spoke it to me for a very long time, and three centuries later, I met another speaker, but she did not care about my name, nor did Tom. I don't remember my name."
Harry could tell this weighed heavily on her. "I can give you a name if you want," Harry said, hoping that would make her feel better.
"No." The Basilisk said right away. "I do not want to carry another name. I might never remember my true name, but I would rather stay nameless. You might continue to call me Basilisk."
Harry wasn't happy about it, but then he said. "I will find out your name then, I will make you remember it."
The Basilisk said nothing, but she seemed pleased by his words.
As Harry rose to leave, already planning the logistics of basilisk material collection and thinking about suitable locations for nighttime exploration, he reflected that his second year at Hogwarts had certainly exceeded all expectations.
Started with a possessed diary and a petrified cat, he mused. Ending with a partnership with a thousand-year-old basilisk and enough valuable materials to fund my own magical research for the next decade.
All things considered, not a bad year's work.
Two Weeks Later
Harry stared at the smoking remains of what had been his fourteenth attempt at incorporating basilisk skin into a functional talisman. The abandoned classroom that Professor Flitwick had graciously allowed him to use looked like a hurricane had torn through a magical artificer's shop—scorch marks decorated the stone walls, fragments of failed prototypes littered every available surface, and the acrid smell of burned magical materials hung in the air like a persistent curse.
The problem, as Harry had discovered through painful trial and error, was that basilisk skin wasn't just magically powerful—it was magically aggressive. Unlike dragon hide, which was tough but cooperative once properly treated, or unicorn hair, which harmonized beautifully with most magical applications, basilisk skin seemed to actively resist being incorporated into anything resembling a helpful magical device.
It's like trying to weave sunlight with shadows, Harry mused, carefully peeling away his ruined gloves to assess the damage to his fingers. Every time I think I've figured out the resonance patterns, the skin decides to rearrange itself just to spite me.
From her perch on the windowsill, Hedwig watched his latest failure with the sort of expression that suggested she thought he might be losing his mind. The Storm Bird had taken to spending most afternoons in the workshop, apparently fascinated by the variety of small explosions and creative cursing that accompanied Harry's experiments.
Itisa, meanwhile, had claimed a corner of the room for herself and spent most of her time either napping or providing what Harry had come to recognize as moral support. Occasionally, when a particularly spectacular failure occurred, she would open one golden eye and regard him with the sort of look that clearly conveyed her opinion that humans overcomplicated everything.
Easy for you to judge, Harry thought in her direction. You're not the one trying to convince ancient magical materials to play nicely with modern runic arrays.
He moved to his workbench—a sturdy oak table that had survived more magical accidents than most pieces of furniture had any right to—and spread out his latest piece of basilisk skin. This particular section had come from the creature's lower belly, where the scales were smaller and more flexible, and Harry had high hopes that it might be more cooperative than the previous samples.
The key, he told himself for probably the hundredth time, is understanding what the basilisk skin actually wants to do magically, and then convincing it that my talisman design serves those same purposes.
Harry had learned through extensive experimentation that basilisk skin had three primary magical properties: absorption, reflection, and what he'd come to think of as "aggressive protection." The skin naturally absorbed hostile magic, reflected it back at attackers, and seemed to take personal offense at anything that threatened its wearer.
Which would be perfect, Harry reflected, if I could figure out how to integrate those properties without having the skin try to eat my runic inscriptions.
He began the delicate process of preparing the skin for inscription, using a silver knife blessed with lunar water to trace the outline of his design. The talisman would be roughly disc-shaped, about the size of his palm, with a bronze base overlaid with silver runic channels and patches of basilisk skin covering the most critical magical junction points.
Bronze for stability, silver for conduction, basilisk skin for power, Harry recited mentally. And if this attempt goes like the last thirteen, green smoke and another trip to Madam Pomfrey.
The first rune went in smoothly—a simple absorption matrix that Harry could probably carve in his sleep by now. The second rune, which would govern the talisman's ability to release stored energy, required more delicate work but cooperated reasonably well.
But this time, Harry did something different.
This time, Harry used Parseltongue as he started working on the Basilisk skin.
Hours passed as Harry worked, his hands steady despite the cuts and burns, his concentration absolute. This was the most complex magical device he'd ever attempted to create, requiring not just technical skill but an understanding of how different magical materials could be convinced to work together toward a common goal.
The bronze provides the foundation, he thought as he integrated the final runic connections. The silver channels the power. The basilisk's skin gives it teeth. And the communication array turns individual protection into collective defense.
When Harry finally set down his tools, the workshop had grown dark outside the windows. The completed talisman lay on his workbench, looking distinctly unimpressive—a bronze and silver disc with irregular patches of green basilisk skin that gave it the appearance of something designed by committee rather than artistic inspiration.
It's not going to win any beauty contests, Harry reflected, but if it works...
He picked up the talisman carefully, feeling the weight of it in his palm. The metal was warm to the touch, and he could sense the magical energies humming just beneath the surface, waiting to be called upon.
Time for the moment of truth.
Harry aimed his wand at the talisman and cast a simple Stinging Hex—nothing dangerous, just enough to test the absorption capability. The talisman absorbed the spell so smoothly that Harry barely felt the magical energy transfer, and the bronze began to glow with a soft, steady light.
Excellent. Now for the release mechanism.
Harry triggered the stored energy release, and the talisman flared with brilliant white light that would have been blinding if he hadn't been prepared for it. The light lasted for several seconds before fading, leaving the talisman cool and ready for another absorption cycle.
Perfect. Now the really advanced features.
He spent the next hour testing every aspect of the talisman's design. The danger warning system produced a clear, distinctive tone when he simulated various threats. The directional indicator worked flawlessly, pointing toward magical dangers with an arrow that appeared on the talisman's surface. The coordination protocols responded beautifully when he used magic to simulate the presence of other talismans.
And now, Harry thought with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation, the big test.
From his collection of basilisk materials, Harry selected a vial of diluted basilisk venom—dangerous enough to test the talisman's protective capabilities, but not concentrated enough to actually kill him if something went wrong. He applied a single drop to a piece of cloth and waved it near the talisman.
The talisman blazed with protective energy, neutralizing the venom so completely that the cloth emerged completely unharmed. More importantly, Harry felt no effects whatsoever from the proximity to basilisk venom, despite the fact that even diluted, it should have caused at least some discomfort.
It works, Harry realized with growing excitement. It actually works. The Etruscan burial curses don't stand a chance against this level of protection.
He sank into his workshop chair, suddenly aware of how exhausted he was. Seven months of trial and error, countless failures, burns, cuts, and small explosions—but in the end, he'd created something that could save lives.
The Italian Ministry is going to be very pleased, Harry thought with satisfaction. And I finished two months ahead of schedule.
From the windowsill, Hedwig hooted approvingly, as if she'd never doubted the eventual success. Itisa opened both eyes and regarded the completed talisman with what Harry could only interpret as approval. About time.
Though I think, Harry mused as he carefully wrapped the prototype in protective cloth, next year I'm definitely moving my workshop to the Chamber of Secrets. All that space, perfect security, and my business partner already lives there. It's the logical next step.
The Chamber would have to wait, though. First, he had some Italian Aurors to impress.
Tomorrow
The Great Hall buzzed with its usual dinner conversation, but Harry found himself considerably more nervous than usual as he sat at the Hufflepuff table beside Nymphadora.
The wrapped talisman sat on the table between them like an unexploded Dungbomb, drawing curious glances from his assembled friends. Hermione had claimed the seat across from him with her usual efficient determination, while Sebastian and Anna had migrated over from the Slytherin table. Daphne sat with aristocratic composure beside Anna, though Harry could see the curiosity burning in her gray eyes. Susan had appeared from somewhere deeper in the Hufflepuff ranks, and even Neville had wandered over from Gryffindor, looking uncertain but interested.
Right, Harry thought, taking a steadying breath. Time to find out if seven months of work actually produced something impressive or just an expensive paperweight.
"So," Hermione said with the sort of pointed patience that suggested she'd been restraining herself for several minutes, "are you going to show us what you made, or are we supposed to guess what's under the cloth?"
"Patience, Granger," Harry replied with a grin. "Some things are worth building anticipation for."
"Some things," Daphne added dryly, "are also worth not dying of curiosity over. Though knowing you, it's probably something that could level half the castle."
Sebastian snorted with laughter. "Only half? You're underestimating Harry's destructive potential. I'm betting it could take out at least three-quarters of Hogwarts if he really put his mind to it."
"You have such confidence in my abilities," Harry said with mock appreciation. "It's truly heartwarming."
Nymphadora elbowed him gently in the ribs. "Stop stalling and show them already. Anna looks like she's about to vibrate out of her seat."
Anna Sallow did indeed look barely contained, the Aqualis crystal at her throat glowing with what Harry had learned to recognize as heightened emotional excitement.
Well, Harry decided, no point in delaying the inevitable.
He carefully unwrapped the talisman, revealing the bronze and silver disc with its irregular patches of green basilisk skin.
"Bloody hell," Susan breathed, leaning forward to get a better look. "Is that...?"
"Basilisk skin," Harry confirmed, watching his friends' expressions shift from curiosity to awe to what might have been mild terror.
Hermione's eyes went wide. "Harry, do you have any idea how dangerous basilisk materials are to work with? It could have killed you if you'd made a mistake with the runic inscriptions!"
"I may have learned that through personal experience," Harry admitted, showing them his bandaged hands. "Turns out basilisk skin has opinions about how it should be used magically."
Neville reached out as if to touch the talisman, then thought better of it and pulled his hand back. "It looks... intense. Like it's watching us."
"That's probably because it is," Harry said cheerfully. "Basilisk materials retain some awareness even after separation from the original creature. I had to negotiate with the skin in Parseltongue to get it to cooperate."
Daphne studied the talisman with the sort of critical assessment that reminded Harry why he valued her political insights. "It's rather ugly, isn't it?" she said bluntly. "Functional, I'm sure, but it looks like something assembled by a committee of colorblind artificers."
"Beauty was not the primary design consideration," Harry replied with dignity. "I was going for 'capable of stopping ancient Etruscan burial curses' rather than 'suitable for formal wear.'"
"And did you succeed?" Hermione asked, her academic curiosity overriding her concern about safety protocols.
Harry's grin turned genuinely proud. "Oh, I more than succeeded. This talisman can absorb spells, release blinding light, warn of danger, coordinate with other talismans, and—if the wearer is mortally wounded—sacrifice itself to provide complete healing."
"Merlin's beard," Sebastian whispered. "That's... that's brilliant, Harry. The Italian Ministry is going to think you're some sort of magical prodigy."
Hermione leaned closer, her eyes scanning the runic inscriptions visible on the bronze base. "This is incredibly advanced work, Harry. Some of these patterns... I don't recognize the theoretical framework you're using."
"That would be the Potter-Tonks Metamorphic Adaptation Principle," Harry said, glancing meaningfully at Nymphadora. "The communication and coordination features are based on how metamorphmagi maintain magical identity while changing form."
Nymphadora's hair flushed pink with embarrassment. "Harry, I keep telling you, all I did was let you study my magical signature while I transformed. You did all the actual work."
"All you did?" Harry repeated with mock outrage. "Tonks, without your contribution, these talismans would be individual protection devices. The metamorphic principles are what allow them to function as a coordinated defensive network. That's the innovation that makes them truly revolutionary."
"He's right," Hermione said thoughtfully. "Individual magical protection has been around for centuries. But talismans that can communicate and coordinate their defenses? That's genuinely unprecedented."
"Revolutionary or not," Daphne said with practical consideration, "you finished this two months ahead of your deadline for the Italian Ministry. That's going to make quite an impression at the negotiating table."
"Assuming the official evaluation goes well," Harry said, trying not to think about all the ways the testing process could go wrong.
As if summoned by Harry's pessimistic thoughts, Professor Snape materialized beside their impromptu gathering with the sort of theatrical timing that suggested he'd been lurking nearby, waiting for the most dramatically appropriate moment to interrupt.
"Potter," Snape said in his usual silky tone. "The Headmaster requests your presence in his office. Immediately."
Here we go, Harry thought, carefully rewrapping the talisman. Time for the real test.
"Professor," Harry said, rising from the bench, "I'd like Nymphadora to accompany me."
Snape's eyebrow rose in what Harry had learned to recognize as pointed inquiry. "Miss Tonks? And why, precisely, would a Hufflepuff prefect need to be present for the evaluation of your... creation?"
"Because," Harry said firmly, "the metamorphic adaptation principles that make this talisman truly innovative were developed through collaboration with her. She deserves recognition for her contribution."
Nymphadora opened her mouth to protest, but Harry cut her off with a look.
"The Potter-Tonks Metamorphic Adaptation Principle," he continued, addressing Snape directly, "represents a genuine breakthrough in coordinated magical defense. Miss Tonks should receive appropriate credit for her role in its development."
Not to mention, Harry added silently, that having her there will provide moral support when I'm inevitably interrogated by Ministry officials who think twelve-year-olds shouldn't be developing revolutionary magical devices.
Snape studied them both for a long moment, his dark eyes unreadable. "Very well," he said finally. "Miss Tonks may accompany you. Though I trust you both understand that this evaluation will determine whether your... collaborative effort... has produced something genuinely useful or merely an elaborate method of generating expensive smoke."
"Oh, it's useful," Harry said with quiet confidence. "The question is whether it's useful enough to impress some very demanding international evaluators."
As they left the Great Hall, Harry caught Hermione's encouraging smile and Sebastian's thumbs-up gesture. Even Daphne nodded approvingly, though she mouthed 'good luck' with the sort of expression that suggested she thought he was going to need it.
Well, Harry reflected as they made their way toward Dumbledore's office, at least I know my friends believe in me. Now I just have to convince a room full of professional skeptics that a twelve-year-old Slytherin has actually created something worth international recognition.
No pressure at all.
Dumbledore's office had never felt quite so crowded, Harry reflected as he and Nymphadora entered to find what appeared to be a small international magical conference in progress. The familiar faces of his previous evaluators—Elliot Finch, Leo Hartwell, and Clara Dovewood—were arranged near Dumbledore's desk, with Amelia Bones sitting nearby.
What caught Harry's attention immediately, however, was Mad-Eye Moody's distinctive magical eye swiveling to fix on him as they entered.
"Ah, Potter," Moody growled with what might have been approval. "Two months ago you're defeating thousand-year-old basilisks, now you're crafting magical protection devices. What's next, declaring yourself Minister of Magic?"
The joke earned Moody a sharp look from Amelia Bones, though Harry caught the hint of amusement in her expression.
"I'm not nearly paranoid enough for politics, Auror Moody," Harry replied with a slight smile. "I prefer enemies I can see coming."
"Ha! Smart lad," Moody barked before pointing his hand at three others leaning against the wall near him. "Potter, meet Aurors Jenkins, Proudfoot, and Savage. They're wearing your first-generation talismans and volunteered to help test the new version. Figured you'd want to see how your work performs in the field."
Harry shook hands with each of the Aurors, noting with satisfaction that his original talismans looked well-maintained and showed signs of regular use. "Gentlemen, I hope they've served you well."
"Saved my leg last month," Auror Jenkins said matter-of-factly. "It warned me before a cutting curse could hit my leg. You have saved many lives and limbs Mister Potter." He said, and all the aurors in the office bowed their heads in respect.
Exactly what they're supposed to do, Harry thought with quiet pride.
"Mr. Potter," Clara Dovewood said, rising from her chair with obvious pleasure, "I must say, I'm rather surprised to be returning to Hogwarts so soon. When we evaluated your first talisman eleven months ago, I hardly expected to be examining a second creation quite this quickly."
"Necessity tends to accelerate innovation," Harry replied diplomatically. "Though I hope the rapid timeline hasn't inconvenienced anyone."
"On the contrary," Clara said warmly. "Your first talisman achieved Gilded Fang ranking—third tier in our classification system. For someone of your age to advance so quickly in magical crafting is... unprecedented."
Nymphadora, who had been hanging back near the door, suddenly perked up as her eyes fixed on Moody. "Alastor Moody! I didn't expect to see you here."
Moody's magical eye swiveled to focus on her, his scarred face creasing in confusion. "Do I know you, lass?"
"Nymphadora Tonks," she said with obvious excitement. "You taught my mum, Andromeda Black during the warr. Well, Andromeda Tonks now, but—"
"Andromeda Black?" Moody's normal eye joined his magical one in studying Nymphadora's face. "Good grief, you've got her eyes. Haven't seen Andromeda since... well, since she told her family exactly what she thought of their pureblood nonsense. Brave woman. You've got her look of determination, too."
Before Nymphadora could respond, a voice with a heavy Italian accent drew everyone's attention to the far side of the office.
"Scusi, but perhaps we could begin? I have traveled molto far to see this talisman."
Harry turned toward the speaker and had to suppress a reaction of surprise. The Italian representative was enormous—easily two meters tall, with broad shoulders that made him look like he'd been carved from a mountain.
"Of course," Harry said, offering a slight bow that he hoped was appropriately respectful. "I'm honored by your presence, Signore...?"
"Bianchi," the giant man said with a nod. "Marco Bianchi, Tester of Talismans for il Ministero Italiano. I am here to see your creation and to test it against... come si dice... curses, sì?"
"Indeed," Harry replied. "I look forward to your evaluation."
A new voice, crisp and carrying the distinctive accent of Eastern Europe, cut through the introductions like a blade through silk.
"How charming. International cooperation in magical innovation."
Harry turned to see a young woman who couldn't have been much older than Nymphadora, though she carried herself with the sort of professional authority that suggested she was accustomed to being the most competent person in any room. Her dark hair fell past her shoulders in thick waves that reminded Harry of raven feathers, and her sharp features were arranged in an expression of polite interest that somehow managed to seem calculating.
"I am Kozlova," she said simply, her Russian accent turning the words into something that sounded both elegant and dangerous. "I am here under direct orders from Ministry of Magic of Russia. I am here to observe and to deliver invitation to Mr. Potter, but this invitation will be given only after I see what his talisman is capable of."
Russian Ministry, Harry thought with interest. This is getting more international by the minute.
"A pleasure to meet you, Miss Kozlova," Harry said, offering another slight bow. "Though I confess myself curious about what the Russian Ministry might want with an English schoolboy's magical experiments."
Kozlova's smile was sharp as winter. "All will be revealed in proper time, Mr. Potter. First, we must see if your work is worthy of our... interest."
Clara Dovewood looked between Harry and Nymphadora with obvious confusion. "Mr. Potter, I understand why you're here, but might I ask why Miss...?"
"Tonks," Nymphadora supplied quietly.
"Why Miss Tonks is participating in this evaluation?"
Harry straightened, his voice taking on the sort of formal tone. "Miss Tonks contributed significantly to the talisman's work. The metamorphic adaptation principles that allow the communication features to function are based on her research into magical signature consistency during physical transformation."
"Harry, that's ridiculous," Nymphadora protested immediately. "All I did was let you study my magical signature while I changed—"
"Which required months of detailed analysis and theoretical development," Harry interrupted firmly. "The Potter-Tonks Metamorphic Adaptation Principle is named accurately."
Kozlova's eyebrows rose slightly. "Metamorphmagus? Interesting. Very rare talent." She paused, her dark eyes studying Nymphadora with sudden intensity. "Very rare indeed."
Something in her tone suggested that Nymphadora's abilities were more significant than she was letting on, though she offered no explanation for her interest.
"Perhaps," Dumbledore said mildly from behind his desk, "we might begin the evaluation? I believe everyone is quite eager to see what Mr. Potter has accomplished."
Harry nodded and carefully unwrapped his talisman, placing it on Dumbledore's desk where everyone could see it clearly. "I should mention that I've created four additional prototypes using the same design. This represents a fully tested and reproducible magical device."
The reaction to his mention of basilisk skin was immediate and dramatic. Auror Proudfoot actually took a step backward, while Marco Bianchi's eyes widened with what might have been awe or alarm.
"Basilisk skin?" Bianchi asked, his accent making the words sound like a prayer. "You used skin from the basilisk? Madonna mia, this is... how do you say... very powerful magic, sì?"
"Will that create difficulties for duplication?" Harry asked, though he suspected he already knew the answer.
Bianchi's response was a booming laugh that seemed to shake the phoenix perches. "Difficoltà? No, no! Italy, we have basilisk materials in vault of Ministero. Very old, very powerful. This will not be problema."
Kozlova had moved closer to examine the talisman, her expression shifting from professional interest to something approaching fascination. "Mr. Potter, may I examine magical structure using Russian technique?"
"Of course," Harry said, though he wasn't entirely sure what she meant.
Kozlova extended her right hand and spoke a string of syllables in what Harry assumed was Russian. The tip of her ring finger began to glow with a deep red light that reminded him uncomfortably of fresh blood. When she touched the basilisk skin patches, they flared briefly from green to red before settling back to their normal color.
"Структурная диагностика," she murmured, then seemed to remember her audience. "Structure diagnostic spell. Your magical framework is... very sophisticated. The basilisk skin is not simply added to design—it is integrated into fundamental matrix. This is work of master craftsman, not child."
I have no idea what magical structure means, Harry thought, but I'll take the compliment.
"Thank you," he said aloud. "Though I should explain what the talisman actually does before we begin formal testing."
Harry launched into his prepared explanation, detailing each of the talisman's capabilities with the sort of precise technical language that would have made Hermione proud. The absorption and release functions, the environmental regulation, the emergency healing protocol, the communication network, and most importantly, the protection against ancient curses.
"The temperature regulation activates automatically," Harry explained. "If the wearer is dangerously cold, the talisman generates warmth. If they're overheating, it provides cooling. And the emergency healing function will sacrifice the entire talisman to save a dying wearer."
"And the communication features?" Amelia Bones asked, her professional interest obvious.
"Twenty-meter range for danger detection," Harry said, feeling increasingly confident as he moved through familiar territory. "When one talisman holder is threatened, all nearby talismans within twenty meters will emit a warning tone and display directional arrows pointing toward the endangered person. Additionally, if multiple talismans are charged with absorbed energy and release simultaneously, the combined light burst can cause temporary blindness and serious burns."
Bianchi was nodding approvingly throughout the explanation. "Sì, sì, this is exactly what we need for le tombe antiche. Ancient tombs, they have curses that kill our Aurors. Your talisman, it can protect against Etruscan magic?"
"That was the design goal," Harry said simply. "Though I suspect you'll want to test that claim thoroughly."
"Where shall we conduct the testing?" Elliot Finch asked, consulting a leather portfolio. "We'll need space for a full magical evaluation."
"The same location we used for Mr. Potter's first talisman," Dumbledore replied. "The Hogwarts grounds provide adequate space and privacy for even... vigorous testing."
Twenty minutes later, Harry found himself standing in the same meadow where his first talisman had been evaluated nearly a year ago, watching the British team put his new creation through its paces with systematic thoroughness.
The durability tests began. Elliot Finch approached the talisman, where it lay on a conjured stone pedestal.
"We'll start with basic structural integrity," Finch announced. "Mr. Potter, your first talisman required seventeen separate spells before showing any signs of stress. Let's see how this one compares."
His first spell was a simple Softening Charm—the sort of magic that would turn solid bronze into putty if the talisman's protective enchantments failed.
The talisman absorbed the spell so smoothly that it barely seemed to notice. The bronze surface maintained its lustrous shine, and the basilisk skin patches showed no change whatsoever.
"Interesting," Finch murmured, making notes on a clipboard that had appeared from nowhere. "No visible absorption strain. Leo, your turn."
Leo Hartwell stepped forward, his runic specialist's eye examining the talisman with professional interest. "Let's see how it handles conflicting magical matrices," he said, beginning a complex wand movement that made Harry's eyes water to follow.
"Conflictus Magicus Maxima!" Hartwell called, and Harry felt the air itself seem to twist as competing magical forces struck his talisman simultaneously.
The talisman flared with brilliant light as it absorbed not just the hex, but the magical interference patterns that should have torn apart its internal enchantments. When the light faded, the device looked exactly as it had before.
"Sweet Merlin," Hartwell breathed. "The runic integration isn't just holding—it's actually stabilizing under stress. The basilisk skin is acting like a magical shock absorber."
Clara Dovewood moved forward with a smile that reminded Harry uncomfortably of Professor McGonagall when she was about to assign particularly challenging homework.
"Impressive, but we're just getting started," she said cheerfully. "Let's test magical coherence under sustained pressure. Dissolutio Perpetua!"
The curse struck the talisman like a battering ram made of pure magical force. This was the sort of spell that unraveled complex enchantments by attacking their fundamental structure—the magical equivalent of pulling on a loose thread until an entire sweater came apart.
Harry held his breath as the talisman began to glow, its bronze surface rippling like water as Clara's magic tried to tear apart everything he'd spent seven months creating.
"Hold," Harry whispered under his breath. "Come on, hold together."
The talisman held.
Not only held, but after absorbing Clara's dissolution curse, it actually seemed to glow more brightly than before, as if the magical attack had somehow strengthened rather than weakened its enchantments.
"Extraordinary," Clara said, lowering her wand with obvious amazement. "The coherence matrix isn't just resisting magical dissolution—it's actually using the attack to reinforce its own stability. That should be impossible."
"Nothing's impossible," Kozlova observed from the sidelines, her dark eyes fixed intently on the talisman. "Simply... improbable. Mr. Potter, this is work of true craftsman."
Moody stumped forward, his magical eye spinning wildly as it examined the talisman from every conceivable angle. "Pretty light shows are all well and good," he growled, "but can it survive this?"
Without warning, Moody pointed his wand at a nearby boulder the size of a small house. "Forma Malleus Giganticus!"
The boulder flowed like clay, reshaping itself into an enormous war hammer with a handle thick as a tree trunk and a head that must have weighed several tons. Moody grasped the handle with both hands, his scarred face grimacing with effort as he lifted the massive weapon.
"If it can't survive this," Moody panted, raising the hammer high above his head, "it's no good to anyone who might actually need it."
The hammer fell with a sound like thunder.
The impact sent shockwaves through the ground that Harry felt through the soles of his feet. Dirt and grass flew in all directions, and several birds fled from nearby trees with cries of alarm.
When the dust settled, Moody's conjured hammer lay in pieces around the stone pedestal. The talisman sat exactly where it had been placed, its bronze surface reflecting the afternoon sunlight without so much as a scratch.
"Well, I'll be damned," Moody said with grudging approval. "That would have flattened a dragon's skull."
"Madonna mia," Bianchi breathed, his massive frame trembling slightly with excitement. "This is... this is incredibile. Your talisman, it is stronger than the armor of our best Aurors."
Harry felt a surge of relief so intense it left him momentarily dizzy. "The basilisk skin provides more than magical protection," he explained, trying to keep his voice steady. "Basilisks are essentially immune to physical damage when alive. Some of that resilience transfers to materials made from their remains."
"Brilliant integration of magical and physical protection," Elliot Finch said, scribbling notes furiously. "Most protective devices focus on one or the other. You've achieved both simultaneously."
"Bene, bene," Bianchi said, clapping his enormous hands together with a sound like gunshots. "Very strong, very good. Now we test the communication features, sì? This is why Italy needs your talisman—our Aurors, they work in teams, they must coordinate against ancient curses."
The three volunteer Aurors—Jenkins, Proudfoot, and Savage—spread out across the meadow, each wearing one of Harry's original Gilded Fang talismans. The devices looked small and almost primitive compared to his new creation, but Harry knew they were still among the most advanced protective magical devices in existence.
"Standard formation," Moody barked. "Twenty-meter spacing. We'll simulate a tomb breach scenario—limited visibility, multiple threats, need for immediate coordination."
Moody raised his wand and cast a smoke charm that would have made the most experienced weather-worker proud. Within seconds, the entire testing area was shrouded in thick, gray fog that reduced visibility to less than a meter.
"Beginning attack sequence," Moody's voice echoed from somewhere in the artificial murk. "Jenkins, incoming!"
A red bolt of light flashed through the smoke—a Stunner powerful enough to drop a troll. The moment it struck the area near Jenkins, Harry's new talisman erupted into activity.
A clear, musical tone rang out across the meadow, unmistakably different from any sound Harry had heard before. Simultaneously, a golden arrow appeared on the talisman's surface, pointing directly through the smoke toward Jenkins's position.
"Stupefy!" came Moody's voice again, this time targeting Proudfoot.
The tone changed—still musical, but with a different harmonic pattern that clearly indicated a second person in danger. A second arrow joined the first, pointing in a completely different direction with the same unwavering accuracy.
"Remarkable," Clara breathed from somewhere in the fog. "Even with complete visual obstruction and magical interference from the smoke charm, the directional indicators are perfect."
The demonstration continued for several more minutes, with Moody systematically "attacking" each Auror from different angles while moving constantly through the smoke. Every time, Harry's talisman responded instantly—warning tones, directional arrows, even coordination signals that pulsed in rhythm to indicate the relative severity of each threat.
When Moody finally dispelled the smoke charm, all three Aurors were grinning despite having been repeatedly "stunned" during the exercise.
"Sir," Jenkins called out to Moody, "if we'd had this kind of coordination during the riot last month, we could have responded to threats twice as fast."
"The response time is instantaneous," Savage added, examining his own talisman with new appreciation. "And that directional accuracy... I could have found any of you in complete darkness."
"Perfect coordination even with magical interference," Proudfoot concluded. "This isn't just an improvement over existing equipment—it's a complete revolution in tactical magical protection."
Harry felt his chest swell with pride, but the expression on Bianchi's face reminded him that the real test was still to come.
"Molto bene," the Italian giant said, his voice carrying a note of anticipation that made Harry's stomach clench with nervous energy. "Very impressive demonstration. But now we test against the real enemy—the curses that kill our Auror del Ministero."
Bianchi reached into his robes and produced what appeared to be a small wooden box, but Harry's magizoologist training immediately identified it as something far more dangerous. The box radiated malevolent magic so strongly that Hedwig, who had been perched quietly on a nearby tree, immediately took flight with a cry of alarm.
"Dio mio," Bianchi muttered as he opened the box, "I pray your talisman is as strong as it appears."
Inside the box lay three objects that made Harry's skin crawl just looking at them. The first was a small tablet covered in Etruscan script, its surface stained with what looked suspiciously like dried blood. The second was a twisted bronze figurine that seemed to writhe when viewed directly. The third was a dagger with a blade so black, it did not reflect the light.
"These artifacts," Bianchi explained, his usual jovial manner replaced by deadly seriousness, "they come from tomb of Etruscan prince. Three of our best curse-breakers died retrieving them. The curses, they are designed to kill anyone who disturbs the prince's rest."
Harry swallowed hard. "And you're going to use those curses... on my talisman?"
"Sì," Bianchi said simply. "If your device cannot protect against these, it cannot protect our Aurors in the field. Is better to know now, no?"
He's right, Harry thought, though his hands were beginning to shake slightly. Better to find out here than when someone's life depends on it.
Bianchi lifted the curse tablet first, holding it carefully by its edges as he began to chant in what sounded like ancient Etruscan. The words seemed to crawl through the air like living things.
"Mortem ossibus! Putredo visceribus! Dolor aeternus!"
The curse that erupted from the tablet was the color of old bone and moved like a serpent made of malevolent magic. Harry had seen enough dangerous spells to recognize this as something that belonged in the deepest, darkest corners of the restricted section—if it belonged in any library at all.
The bone-rotting curse struck his talisman with the sound of breaking glass and shattering stone. For a terrifying moment, Harry thought he saw the bronze surface begin to pit and corrode, the basilisk skin patches darkening as if burned.
Then the talisman flared with brilliant green light—the same color as basilisk eyes—and the curse simply... disappeared.
"Madonna santissima," Bianchi whispered, staring at the completely undamaged talisman. "The curse of bone-rot, it killed three master curse-breakers in Rome. Your device, it absorbed it like nothing."
But the Italian wasn't finished. He lifted the twisted bronze figurine next, and Harry caught a glimpse of the malevolent intelligence that seemed to lurk within its misshapen form.
"This curse," Bianchi explained, "it boils the blood in your veins. Very painful death. Very slow."
The incantation this time was in Latin, but Latin spoken with such venom that it seemed to poison the very air: "Sanguis igneus! Dolor infinitus! Mors lenta!"
The blood-boiling curse manifested as waves of crimson energy that made the air shimmer like a furnace. Harry could feel the heat of it from twenty meters away, and he was suddenly very grateful that he wasn't the one wearing the talisman during this test.
The curse struck with enough force to crack the stone pedestal, sending spiderwebs of fractures racing through the granite. For a moment, the very air around the talisman seemed to boil, red energy swirling in violent patterns that hurt to look at directly.
Then the basilisk skin patches flared with that same brilliant green light, and the curse was gone as if it had never existed.
"Incredibile," Bianchi breathed, but his expression remained grimly determined. "One more test. The most dangerous."
He lifted the black dagger with hands that trembled slightly, and Harry noticed that even this giant of a man seemed afraid of what he was about to unleash.
"This curse," Bianchi said quietly, "it drives you mad before it kills you. Three days of madness, seeing things that are not there, hearing voices of the dead. Then death, finally, as a mercy."
The final incantation was in a language Harry didn't recognize. The words seemed to echo from every direction at once, as if the earth itself was speaking.
The madness curse that emerged from the dagger was unlike anything Harry had ever seen. It moved like liquid shadow, writhing and shifting as if it couldn't decide what shape it wanted to take. Whispers seemed to follow in its wake—fragments of conversation in languages that had been dead for millennia.
When it struck the talisman. For one horrible moment, Harry thought he could hear the voices too—ancient Etruscan princes calling for vengeance, curse-breakers screaming as their minds shattered, the endless wails of those who had died alone in forgotten tombs.
Then the basilisk skin erupted with light so brilliant that everyone present had to shield their eyes. When Harry could see again, the talisman sat unchanged on its cracked pedestal, while the shadows cast by the madness curse writhed and dissipated like smoke in the wind.
Bianchi lowered the dagger with hands that shook noticeably, his face pale despite his olive complexion. "Forty-seven curse-breakers have died to the magic in these artifacts," he said quietly. "Forty-seven of Italy's best and bravest. Your talisman... it stops them all."
He carefully returned the three cursed artifacts to their box, sealing it with what appeared to be several layers of protective magic. When he looked up at Harry, his expression was one of profound respect.
"Signor Potter," he said formally, "I have tested magical protections for fifteen years. I have seen devices crafted by masters, by legends, by wizards whose names are spoken in whispers of awe." He paused, struggling with the English words to express what he felt. "Your talisman... it is better than all of them. You have created something that will save lives—many, many lives."
When Bianchi finally lowered his wand and declared the testing complete, Harry felt his knees go weak with relief. The revelation that forty-seven curse-breakers had died to the very curses his talisman had just shrugged off made the magnitude of what he'd accomplished suddenly, terrifyingly real.
The British evaluators conferred quietly for several minutes, their voices too low for Harry to overhear, before Clara stepped forward with obvious pleasure.
"Mr. Potter," she said formally, "it is our unanimous decision that your talisman has achieved Phoenix Crown ranking—fourth tier in our classification system. This represents exceptional magical craftsmanship that approaches legendary quality."
Phoenix Crown, Harry thought with a surge of triumph. One full tier above my first attempt, and apparently good enough to save lives that would otherwise be lost.
Not bad for a second-year Slytherin with a talent for making friends with dangerous magical creatures.
"Congratulations, Mister Potter," Amelia Bones said warmly. "At twelve years old, you've created something that will save lives across multiple countries. That's... extraordinary."
Kozlova finally stepped forward with a sealed envelope bearing what appeared to be the Russian Ministry's official seal.
"Mr. Potter," she said formally, "I am instructed to deliver this invitation from Minister of Magic of Russia. You and your family are invited to Moscow during month of August, should you wish to accept."
Harry accepted the envelope with careful hands, noting its weight and the quality of the parchment. "May I ask what the Russian Ministry wants to discuss?"
Kozlova's smile was mysterious. "All will be explained when you arrive, Mr. Potter. Russia has great interest in young wizards who show such... exceptional talent."
As the group began making their way back toward the castle, Harry reflected that his second year at Hogwarts was ending with considerably more international attention than he'd expected.
Italy, Russia, and who knows what other countries will come calling next, he thought. At this rate, I'll need a secretary just to manage my correspondence.
Though I suppose there are worse problems to have than too many people wanting to do business with you.