The Basilisk's greatest weapon—its eyes, capable of delivering a curse of instant death—was useless against Norberta, thanks to the dragon's natural resistance to magic.
And as for those venomous fangs Voldemort boasted of? Against Norberta's impenetrable dragon scales, they might as well have been twigs. At this point, she wasn't just magically resistant—her physical defenses were unmatched as well.
Defensively, Norberta was untouchable. Offensively, even without her deadliest weapon—fire-breathing, restricted by the chamber's environment—her entire body was still an arsenal.
Those razor-sharp fangs, lethal claws, the thunderous lash of her tail, combined with the simple fact that she could fly—Norberta dominated the Basilisk completely.
The serpent's massive body was already riddled with bloody gashes, and the once-cruel gleam in its great golden eyes had dimmed into something closer to fear, even retreat.
Honestly, who could keep fighting when a dragon had you pinned beneath its claws and was tearing chunks out of you?
...
"ROOOOAR!!"
"Hissss... ahhh..."
The contrast was striking—the dragon's triumphant roar against the Basilisk's weakening hiss told the outcome of the battle more clearly than words ever could.
If Voldemort didn't act soon, the so-called monster of the Chamber would soon be nothing more than a corpse.
But what caught Draco off guard was that Voldemort made no move to intervene. Instead, he threw his head back and burst into mad laughter, the kind that looked like it might tear his chest open. Draco narrowed his eyes, wand lifting slightly.
"Malfoy... do you think you've won? No one—NO ONE can defeat the great Lord Voldemort!"
Draco couldn't decide whether he was bluffing or not. What was fueling this arrogance? He had no pieces left to play, no leverage to turn the tide—yet he didn't look like a man on the losing side.
Did he really think Draco wouldn't strike? Or was he hiding some last trump card?
Either way, Draco had no intention of wasting this chance.
And more importantly, he couldn't allow the secret of Dragontongue to leak out—not here, not to Voldemort.
The Dark Lord before him had to die.
Just as Draco was about to strike, a third voice cut through the chamber.
It wasn't Ron Weasley—whose heartbeat was already faint and fading.
Nor could it possibly be Norberta, who had certainly not transformed into some dragon maiden.
"I suppose this is the Dark Lord's trump card... a Horcrux, of all things."
"..."
"..."
Both Draco and Voldemort turned.
In the newcomer's hand dangled a diary, swinging idly as though it were the most ordinary book in the world.
Voldemort's laughter choked off in an instant. His eyes, glowing crimson, flashed with wild intensity, betraying a storm of unease he could no longer hide.
Draco's brows furrowed the moment he recognized the figure. He couldn't tell whose side this man was on, nor what he wanted out of this chaos.
Because the intruder was none other than that lunatic who lived for battle—
Gilderoy Lockhart.
...
No one knew when Lockhart had arrived, nor what his purpose was in revealing himself now.
But his words—and the way he held that diary—seemed to strike a nerve in the increasingly weakened Voldemort...
"It's you! I should have known! That fool Lockhart was only a disguise!"
"Ah, but stealing you out was no small task. Do you know how hard it is not to laugh while keeping up a disguise? Exhausting, really. Still, I didn't expect the diary to end up in Mr. Weasley's hands."
"Damn it, I—"
"Oh, oh, oh—better not get too worked up. If I slip, the great Dark Lord might just lose his Horcrux right this instant~."
The wand aimed at the diary froze Voldemort in his tracks. He had been about to lunge forward, but now his flaming red eyes burned with such fury it was as if he could incinerate Lockhart on the spot.
But Voldemort didn't understand Lockhart—and no matter what he did, the ending was already set.
"Pestis Incendium!"
"No! AHHHHHHHHH!!"
The cursed flames roared to life, contained by Lockhart's precise control of magic.
A piercing, endless scream shook the chamber as ink gushed violently from the diary, splattering across the stone floor. Voldemort's form writhed and twisted, his arms flailing wildly as black smoke poured off his body. His shrieks sounded as though he'd been thrown into a blazing inferno.
At last—
A sharp crack rang out as Ron Weasley's wand snapped. Then silence.
Only the faint dripping of ink from the diary broke the stillness.
And so Voldemort was forced to retreat, in the strangest, most grotesque way imaginable...
"..."
"..."
The diary, now burned through with a gaping hole, still smoked with an eerie black haze. In the hiss of the fumes, one could almost hear the lingering echo of his furious screams.
The chilling scene left both Draco and Lockhart silent for a long moment.
If Voldemort were still alive in the world, there was no doubt—they had just earned a place on his kill list.
After all, as he had said himself: no one deceives the great Lord Voldemort.
Draco's thoughts flicked back to that day in Diagon Alley, when Lockhart had pulled Harry Potter onto the stage and gifted him a full set of his books. That set must have included this diary. But Lockhart surely hadn't expected Harry to pass the books on to Ginny. And when Lucius caused a commotion... somehow, in the confusion, it ended up with Ron Weasley.
A ridiculous chain of coincidences... and yet, fate had played its hand.
Draco now understood what his father and the others had been searching for all along. It was this—Voldemort's stolen diary. A Horcrux.
"A Horcrux... That explains it. No wonder his strength was only this much. Tell me—when did you get here?"
Noticing the Basilisk lying motionless, finally subdued, Draco turned his full attention on Lockhart. Norberta, still unsatisfied from battle, swung her massive head to glare at him as well.
Even Lockhart, battle-mad as he was, broke into a cold sweat. He could see what Draco was weighing in his mind.
Crazy he might be—but he wasn't suicidal enough to try taking on a dragon alone.
"What a terribly ungrateful student you are. I just saved you, and now you're thinking of silencing me?"
"Relax. Just a little memory modification. I'm rather skilled with memory charms."
But Draco, who understood exactly how dangerous Dragontongue was, wasn't about to be soothed by a few glib words.
Those very words made Lockhart's lip curl into an irritated smirk. He'd once used them to "persuade" someone else too.
"Draco! Where are you?"
The sudden sound of footsteps and Hermione's anxious call froze Draco in place.
Lockhart seized the moment, slipping back into the shadows. His voice drifted out, laced with amusement.
"I'll keep your secret. After all, this is far too interesting... The future—ah, I look forward to it."
"..."
With the chance gone, Draco finally lowered his wand. He picked up the magic suitcase lying nearby. He needed to act quickly, to stow Norberta and the Basilisk's corpse back inside before Hermione and the others arrived.
As he erased traces of the battle, his mind lingered on Lockhart's words.
Who was giving Lockhart orders?
What role was he really playing?
And most puzzling of all—why would a Horcrux, meant to stay hidden at all costs, be used to open the Chamber of Secrets and attack wizards, drawing so much attention?
Did Voldemort truly not care if a Horcrux was destroyed?
Or... did he believe it simply didn't matter?
...
If you'd like to support my work and unlock advanced chapters, you can follow me on P@treon.
[Upto 50 chapters ahead for now]
[email protected]/BlurryDream