Stone pillars carved with intertwining serpents glared at Harry with eerie menace. Under their silent gaze, he maintained his Protego shield. The Sneakoscope had fallen silent.
"…Ron."
Harry shielded himself from falling rocks with Protego. Ron should've been protected too, but Harry's heart pounded with dread.
(No way, Ron's alive… He has to be…)
"RON!!"
Harry's shout echoed unanswered. A chill crept through him.
As he moved to help Ron, a searing pain shot through the scar on his forehead.
(Is it because I've kept Protego up so long?)
For a second-year like Harry, sustaining a Protego barrier for mere seconds was impressive. Yet, he'd held it for over a minute.
He suspected it was tied to his scar. When it burned, his magic flowed stronger. That's how he'd mastered Protego Diabolica, a dark spell beyond his years.
"Harry!! Harry, you okay!?"
Ron's voice cut through the rubble.
"You're safe!?"
"Thanks to Protego, not a scratch! You!?"
"I'm fine! Hang on, I'll clear the rocks!"
"Wait!! I'm using Wingardium Leviosa to move them!! Dropping Protego now is dangerous!!"
"…Alright, Ron, hurry! I'm going after Ginny!"
Harry faced a choice: drop Protego to cast Wingardium Leviosa and free Ron, or keep the shield up. Before he could decide, a red flash grazed his wand, blocked by Protego. Someone was trying to disarm him.
Forced to move forward alone, Harry pressed deeper into the Chamber of Secrets. The silent Sneakoscope in his pocket only heightened his fear.
At the sight of a red-haired girl lying beside a statue of Salazar Slytherin, Harry's heart froze. She was lifeless.
"Ginny! Ginny! Answer me!! Can you hear me!? I'm here to save you!"
He started toward her but stopped.
(Something's wrong…)
Ginny's pallor, her unresponsiveness, the absence of her wand, and the old notebook clutched in her left hand—it was all wrong.
(A trap…)
Harry hesitated. Whoever—or whatever—controlled Ginny, or the Basilisk itself, was near. He strengthened his Protego, its faint glow intensifying, revealing a figure beside Ginny.
A slow, mocking clap echoed. Harry aimed his wand toward the sound, gripping something hidden in his pocket.
"Who's there?" he demanded coldly. "Show yourself."
He was certain Ginny's manipulator stood before him. His stubborn instinct to trust his gut took over—a trait that, against a dark wizard, could prove fatal. He should've struck with full force, even if it meant hitting Ginny. A specialist could sort out her state later.
The figure, confident Harry was just a talented child, stepped forward with a smug grin.
Harry didn't recognize the tall, handsome boy in Slytherin green. His build was slender, not muscular like McGillis Carrow or Garfield Galfgarion, but striking. A prefect's badge gleamed on his chest, yet Harry knew Slytherin's seventh-year prefect was a short boy named Tyrion.
"I've been dying to meet you, Harry Potter. First time, right?" the boy said, twirling his wand.
"Dying to meet me?" Harry retorted, wincing as his scar throbbed. "Didn't think to help Ginny first? Who are you? I've never seen you in the Slytherin common room."
The boy's smile turned mocking. "Why bother? That girl's worthless. You've figured it out, haven't you? Ginny Weasley's the Heir of Slytherin."
"Sure, she's the one who did it," Harry shot back, trembling with doubt and rage. "But her worth isn't for you to decide."
(How dare he…!)
The boy laughed brightly. "Come on, she's got no value. Attacked people, caused trouble, then tried to off herself when the guilt hit."
He exaggeratedly clawed at his throat, taunting Harry.
"I tried to stop her, you know? Talked her down. But she wouldn't listen, so I had to take her out and wait for help."
"Liar," Harry said icily. "If you beat the culprit here, you'd have left already. And if you knew Ginny was behind it, her leaving threats makes no sense."
Harry's thoughts spilled out. "Ginny was set up. She was forced to act, targeting anyone who'd cause trouble. Only a lower-year would care about a cat spying on students. An upper-year could just confund Filch and move on."
"Correct. Bare minimum brains, eh? A point for Slytherin!" the boy clapped.
"You're dodging the real issue," Harry pressed. "You attacked me and my friends with magic when I got here. Stop lying."
He voiced what had nagged him since they met. "There's no Slytherin like you. I'd know—I've been in the common room. Who are you, and why are you here?"
Silence followed. The boy's gaze turned bored, then he spoke, his voice heavy. Harry's breath caught; his scar burned, sweat beading on his brow.
"Does the Heir of Slytherin need a reason to be in his own chamber? Rude kid. Was I too kind because you're a Slytherin?"
The air seemed to warp with his words, a primal fear gripping Harry—not just an illusion but the overwhelming magical aura of a true dark wizard. Harry stood his ground. "Is it so bad for a Slytherin to call out an outsider? Show your true colors. I won't be shocked if you're Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, or even Gryffindor."
The boy's pride visibly stung. "I am Slytherin," he said quietly. "Tom Marvolo Riddle."
He gestured to his prefect badge with pride. The name Riddle tugged at Harry's memory.
(Where have I heard that…)
"To think I, Slytherin's Heir, would be mistaken for a pathetic Hufflepuff, useless Ravenclaw, or Gryffindor? That's a first. My little lie's fault, maybe?"
"Yeah," Harry said.
Riddle smoothed his hair, a gesture suiting his refined features. "But, Harry, I was waiting for help. I've been waiting forever to return to Hogwarts and fulfill my role as Slytherin's Heir."
He confessed everything: opening the Chamber, targeting Muggle-borns, framing Hagrid, manipulating Ginny to "reform" Hogwarts. Harry saw each act as the work of a vile coward.
Harry listened silently, stunned but wary. Riddle's form flickered—ghostly yet solid, an enigma. Could magic even touch him? His overwhelming power froze Harry in place.
"I brought you here to restore Hogwarts," Riddle said, stepping on Harry's deepest nerve. "A Slytherin who befriends filth, defies the Dark Lord, and doesn't belong—Harry Potter, you, the Muggle-borns, and blood-traitors who cozy up to them must be purged. This is a holy war, Potter!"
"…Right."
(You'd kill my friends?)
(My family?)
(Then I'll destroy you.)
A dark, murderous intent bloomed in Harry's mind.
(I won't lose anyone else.)
Fear of Tom vanished, replaced by raw anger at the pure-blood fanatic blocking his path. Courage—or something else?
"King of Serpents, Basilisk, arise!"
Harry couldn't distinguish Parseltongue, but he sensed Tom's command. It could be a bluff, but the Sneakoscope's silence and the sound of something slithering across shattered stone warned him. He bolstered Protego.
"Protego won't stop a Basilisk, Potter," Riddle sneered.
Ignoring him, Harry flipped the switch on his hidden radio.
(You're underestimating me.)
Tom Riddle scorned everyone but Dumbledore. A rooster's crow blared from the radio Harry had borrowed from Banarge Beast. Riddle's smug face twisted in shock.
(A rooster's cry!? Where!?)
The Basilisk froze, paralyzed by instinctual fear. Harry seized the moment.
"Diabolica!"
Maintaining Protego, Harry layered Protego Diabolica. The holy shield morphed into a black, fiery barrier of malice, protecting only what Harry cherished and burning all else. Blue flames surged toward Riddle and the Basilisk.
Shock flashed across Tom's face, then twisted into glee.
(That's it, Potter!)
Riddle's wand slashed down, casting Finite, snuffing out the dark flames. But Harry was already moving, firing Expulso as the Basilisk trembled, immobilized by the rooster's cry.
Protego Diabolica's flames didn't block Harry's spells. They protected his allies—and his magic. The explosive flash merged with the demonic fire, striking the Basilisk's face. Riddle's tongue-click of frustration echoed.
The Basilisk writhed in agony, but Harry's focus shifted. His scar screamed, urging him to act. He dove behind a pillar, realizing the true threat.
(The Basilisk isn't the real danger!)
"Protego Diabolica!"
As Harry recast the spell, figures appeared at the Chamber's entrance. Rocks shifted, and footsteps echoed.
"!?"
"Ginny!!! It's your brother! Are you there!?"
Not just Ron—Percy Weasley, Ginny's brother, stormed in to save her.
Seeing Percy, Harry instinctively dropped Protego Diabolica, like slamming brakes before a wall. A fatal mistake.
Tom seized the opening, manipulating a Basilisk fang shard to strike. Harry and Percy dodged with Wingardium Leviosa, but Percy's Protego couldn't stop the venomous fang. It grazed Harry's left hand.
"Get back!! I'm her brother!" Percy roared.
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