Drip.
That was the sound of hair potion sliding off Snape's locks and hitting the floor.
Creak… creak…
That was Snape slowly turning his head, his neck making an eerie sound.
Thump! Thump!
Everyone could hear the excited pounding of their own hearts.
Squeak…
Professor McGonagall, doubling as Deputy Headmistress, pushed back her chair and stood, ready to defuse the tense situation before it exploded.
Then—
WHAM!
"Aaagh!"
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
"Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow!"
No one could've predicted it.
Snape, who always seemed so frail and reserved, unleashed an astonishing burst of power and a fighting style that was pure, brutal artistry.
Every punch landed squarely on Lockhart's meticulously groomed face.
Each blow was a collision of bone and flesh, sending blood splattering and teeth flying.
No one could've imagined it.
Snape—every inch the quintessential wizard, from his appearance to his demeanor to his very essence—was the last person you'd expect to ditch his wand, forsake spells, and abandon wizardly methods.
Instead, he went for the simplest, most direct, most gloriously Muggle approach.
Bare fists!
Hand-to-hand combat!
Defending his dignity!
Protecting his slick hair!
Fight! Fight! Fight!
Click! Click! Click!
Colin Creevey, thrilled, snapped away with his camera.
"Wow! Wizards are so intense! So passionate! Hogwarts is just too much fun! I love the magical world!"
That day, Professor Lockhart left the Great Hall horizontally.
His physical wounds would heal quickly.
But the damage to his pride? Who knew how long that would sting.
Leon's latest scheme had been a roaring success.
This spectacle, easily a contender for the year's biggest event, had one small flaw: it didn't reveal whether Lockhart had any real skill.
What was proven, beyond a doubt, was that Lockhart's hand-to-hand combat skills were utterly pathetic.
And that alone was enough to confirm that much of what Lockhart wrote in his books was wildly exaggerated.
He loved to brag about his close-quarters battles with dangerous creatures—bare-handedly stopping werewolves, fist-fighting vampires, arm-wrestling trolls, and suplexing ghouls.
His books were packed with tales showcasing his supposed fighting prowess.
But tonight's brawl?
At first, you could argue Lockhart was caught off guard, too stunned to fight back.
But as it went on, he was reduced to cowering and scurrying around the Great Hall, chased by Snape, with zero ability to resist.
Even his basic self-defense moves were amateurish.
He didn't look like a battle-hardened, experienced wizard adventurer.
He looked… weak. Like a novelist spinning tall tales.
Even more amusing? Perhaps because no wands were involved, just fists, none of the professors stepped in to stop the fight.
They shouted for it to end, but that was it.
Even McGonagall, who'd stood up to intervene, stayed rooted in place, only verbally urging them to stop.
Hagrid, fresh off physically breaking up a fight between Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy, just grinned, sipped his butterbeer, and enjoyed the show.
Dumbledore and Flitwick? They were critiquing the fight like it was a Quidditch match.
Merlin's beard, how bad were Snape and Lockhart's reputations?
But Snape's performance in this brawl—whether it was dignified or not—was worth it.
He'd boosted his own stock.
He'd built brand value.
Before, he was known as the sharp-tongued, brooding Potions professor who hated students from other houses—a wizard with impressive magical skills but abysmal social graces and questionable character.
After this, he shot to the top of the students' unofficial "Professor Power Rankings."
That night, Hogwarts was sleepless.
The Gryffindor and Ravenclaw first-years, fresh from their first Astronomy lesson, didn't get back until nearly midnight.
In the boys' bathroom, Leon Leonred until everyone else had left.
Then he summoned Kreacher.
He had Kreacher take him to the Chamber of Secrets.
Leon felt the Chamber was more secure and private than the Room of Requirement.
Only he and Harry knew the password.
And Leon had even removed the snake emblem from the faucet at the entrance, making it nearly impossible for Harry to find the door again.
The Chamber was practically Leon's private sanctuary now.
Sure, the air circulation was poor, it was dirty and damp, the facilities were basic, and the door's opening sound effect was overly dramatic.
But other than that? No downsides.
So Leon called on Kreacher, who'd been idle at home, to help out.
The Chamber had transformed since two days ago.
Between the towering serpent columns, countless glowing orbs floated, illuminating the vast space.
A massive workbench, connected to an operating table and lined with various magical instruments and materials, sat in the center.
These were all new, courtesy of Leon's deep pockets and Kreacher's efforts.
The setup was even more advanced than Leon's lab at 12 Grimmauld Place.
At the far end, by the foot of Slytherin's statue, the Peeves-possessed Basilisk—Peevesnake, as it were—was spinning in circles, chasing its own tail.
Nearby stood a seemingly small magical tent.
Inside, it was a fully equipped four-bedroom, two-living-room, two-bathroom apartment, perfect for Leon and Kreacher to eat, rest, and freshen up.
As soon as Leon entered, he spotted a mop that looked eerily like Snape, diligently cleaning the floor.
He couldn't help but laugh for a good while.
Then he turned to Peevesnake, still spinning like a glitchy video game character.
"How long's it been like this?" Leon asked Kreacher, who'd been cleaning and organizing the Chamber for the past two days.
Kreacher reported faithfully: "It woke up yesterday afternoon. I fed it some meat. After eating, it started zooming around the room. Then it seemed to think its own tail was prey or something. It's been chasing it ever since, spinning in circles. Hasn't stopped."
Leon was stunned. "It's been spinning for a whole day?"
Was something wrong with it?
This all started on the first night of term.
Leon had snuck into the Chamber during a nighttime wander, devoured the Basilisk's soul, and stuffed Peeves inside to keep the body "fresh."
The next day, he didn't visit.
On the third day—yesterday—after morning classes, Leon slipped back into the Chamber.
He summoned Kreacher to help clean and reorganize the space.
With time tight, Leon focused on checking the Basilisk's body. It was healthy, fresh, and very much alive.
Peeves seemed a bit sluggish, but Leon brushed it off, thinking it just wasn't used to being a snake yet.
He left Kreacher in charge of feeding and monitoring Peevesnake, then left.
Now, back in the Chamber, Leon had no idea what was going on with this creature.
A magical mishap?
A mental breakdown?
Poisoning?
Leon tried reading Peevesnake's thoughts.
"Abba abba… abba abba…"
!
Peeves had turned into Peevesnake—and its brain had broken!