Sherlock easily caught Hermione's eye signals and lip movements.
It was one word—quick.
Hermione had now figured out why this young Voldemort wasn't nervous at all because he could afford to drag this out.
Actually, without Hermione's reminder, Sherlock had already noticed that as time passed, Riddle's originally blurry outline was becoming clearer and more stable.
Hermione's meaning was obvious. the longer Riddle stood there, the less life force remained in Lockhart.
After some more time, all of Lockhart's life might completely transfer to Riddle. So, they didn't have much time left.
However, Sherlock wasn't worried either.
From the moment he officially met this Tom Riddle from fifty years ago, the other's defeat was already predetermined.
Whether it was himself, Hermione, Harry, or even the seemingly dying Lockhart, none of them would come to harm.
Sherlock's gray eyes swept over Riddle's semi-transparent figure, his tone as steady as still water in Hogwarts' dungeons, yet hiding needle-sharp sharpness in its trailing notes.
"Voldemort—no, let's just call you Riddle. You don't really think you have this in the bag, do you?"
"Why wouldn't I?" Riddle looked at Sherlock with a puzzled expression. "You don't really think you still have a chance, do you?"
"Why wouldn't we?"
"Fine, I'll admit it. In your past, my future, I encountered that good friend of yours not only did I fail to kill him, I suffered a defeat—but!"
Riddle suddenly straightened up with complete confidence.
"This time, everything is different!
With just a fragment of memory, I recreated the attacks from fifty years ago, made the entire school and Ministry of Magic dance to my tune, and drove Dumbledore whom you worship out of the school. Sherlock, I advise you to quickly tell me how Harry managed to escape death, the longer you talk, the longer you and your little girlfriend get to live."
Hermione: (ಠ_ಠ)/
Sherlock sighed. "Honestly, Riddle, I think you're quite pitiful."
'Here it comes!'
Hearing this familiar opening, both Harry and Hermione perked up.
As the two friends who knew Sherlock best, they understood this all too well whenever Sherlock began this way, it meant he was about to display his true skills.
Indeed, Sherlock needed only one sentence to make Riddle crack.
"Do I need to remind you? Everything you've done is nothing but an utterly ridiculous farce, a mudblood tyrant painting pure-blood makeup in the mirror!"
"What did you say?"
"You despise Muggle blood?
More like you hate this Muggle body, because every minute and second it reminds you.
That Muggle father who abandoned you carved a mark of shame into your bloodstream using the most primitive biological laws."
"Shut up!"
"What an exquisite paradox! The heir of Salazar Slytherin?
No, you're nothing but mold growing in the damp corners of an orphanage, stealing your ancestors' names to stitch together a fig leaf for yourself."
"Shut up, I told you to shut up!"
"Admit it, Tom Riddle. Your so-called pure-blood holy war is nothing but grand masturbation.
When you cast the Cruciatus Curse on half-blood wizards, what you hear isn't their screams, but your own venting about sharing the same mixed heritage as them.
Every spell you cast is a whip cracking against your own spine, isn't it?"
"Ahhhh!!!"
Just as Sherlock had said before, because Lockhart didn't know about Sherlock's encounter with the older Voldemort, young Voldemort's understanding of Sherlock was far too limited.
Unaware of the world's cruelty, he never imagined that such venomous words could spill from the mouth of a 13-year-old boy.
Sherlock's words were like knives, stabbing repeatedly at the most hidden wounds in his heart, wounds he least wanted anyone to see, completely shattering the self-respect and pride he had carefully constructed.
"You—die, just die!"
Riddle suddenly turned toward the high Slytherin statue hidden in the darkness, opened his mouth, and spoke strange words.
Sherlock and Hermione heard a series of hissing sounds, but Harry heard clearly.
"Speak to me, Slytherin—greatest of the Hogwarts Four!"
Harry immediately turned and looked up at the statue.
He saw Salazar Slytherin's enormous stone face begin to move, its mouth opening wider and wider until it formed a huge black hole.
Harry felt something moving inside the statue's mouth, sliding upward from deep within. He immediately realized what it was.
"He's released the basilisk! Close your eyes!"
Harry could no longer maintain his invisibility, shouting at the top of his lungs. After this shout, both Hermione and Riddle were stunned.
Neither had expected there to be someone else besides Sherlock. But Hermione immediately reacted and tightly shut her eyes.
"Ha! Harry Potter!"
Riddle reacted quickly too, immediately realizing the speaker was Harry, who had revealed himself as a Parselmouth at the Dueling Club.
"Sherlock, I didn't expect you to keep a trump card—an Invisibility Cloak, I presume?"
Riddle was nothing like last year's Quirrell. Well-informed as he was, he immediately saw through Harry's disguise.
After brief surprise, he laughed again.
"Perfect timing. Let's have a contest of strength.
On one side, the Dark Lord Voldemort, heir of Salazar Slytherin;
On the other, the wizarding world's savior Harry Potter and his friends.
By the way, Harry, don't think about commanding it with Parseltongue, because it only obeys me, so—
Kill them!"
The last sentence was spoken in Parseltongue to the basilisk.
Harry stumbled backward in panic, his back hitting the cold, rough wall of the Chamber.
Just then, a deep, thunderous crash shook the entire Chamber, as if a mountain had collapsed.
Though his eyes were closed, Harry could still clearly feel an immensely large body crashing heavily onto the hard stone floor.
The basilisk's scales scraping against the ground created increasingly loud rustling sounds, each one beating like drums on Harry's taut nerves.
Harry realized the basilisk was rapidly approaching their position. The air seemed filled with its cold, putrid breath.
Harry kept his eyes tightly shut and began moving sideways away from the basilisk, his hands frantically groping in the darkness.
Then he touched a hand.
Though cold, it radiated a steady strength—strong and powerful.
"Sherlock?" Harry's voice carried a slight tremor.
"It's me."
Sherlock's familiar, calm voice came from beside him, like a ray of dawn in the darkness.
He was holding Harry's hand tightly with one hand, while his other was firmly grasped by Hermione.
Hermione's hand was slightly sweaty from nervousness but gripped with unusual force, as if clutching a final lifeline.
"Sherlock!"
Riddle called out from his elevated position.
Although Harry had already given warning, Sherlock hadn't closed his eyes—he had merely lowered his head slightly.
Now hearing Riddle's call, he still didn't turn his gaze in that direction.
"Sherlock, it would be somewhat wasteful to eliminate a force like you, so I can give you one more chance.
As long as you're willing to swear loyalty to me now, I can give you and your friends better positions than those Death Eaters who once followed me."
Riddle's voice echoed through the Chamber with a bewitching magic.
Hearing that Riddle was still trying to recruit him even now, Sherlock was genuinely surprised.
"Tom, seeing you now, I'm beginning to understand how you managed to rule the wizarding world for so long.
It's hard to imagine you're the same person as that brain-dead fool from last year."
"What did you say?"
"Unfortunately, your essence hasn't changed—when you think you control the situation, you're calm and elegant, but when you fall into adversity, that true nature is immediately exposed.
Knowing your identity, why would you think I'd come here without any preparation?"
"Is that so? I'd really like to know what preparation you made."
"Do you know how the Muggle world handles outdated business plans?"
Sherlock said, taking a black, square box-like object from his coat.
"They use a paper shredder."
Tom Riddle was a wizard raised in the Muggle world, so he immediately recognized what Sherlock held.
It took him only three seconds to realize what Sherlock intended to do, and he immediately tried to stop him.
Unfortunately, three seconds was more than enough deliberation time for Sherlock.
The moment he took out the tape recorder, Sherlock had already pressed the play button.
"Cock-a-doodle-doo!"
The rooster's brilliant crow pierced the Chamber's dome like something tangible.
No—
Riddle never expected Sherlock to be so underhanded!
He had said he'd come to the Chamber alone, but not only brought Harry in an Invisibility Cloak, he also brought a tape recorder with a rooster's crow.
The basilisk was twenty feet long with the terrifying ability to kill with a glance.
But in this moment, it immediately stopped its attacking posture.
In the rooster's piercing call, the basilisk began convulsing all over, its massive body writhing on the ground, scales scraping against each other with harsh sounds, no longer possessing its earlier world-devouring presence.
"No—!"
Riddle's face showed a complex expression of pain mixed with anger. He raised Lockhart's wand and shouted toward Sherlock and the others.
"Avada Ke—"
With his twisted cry, the green light from the wand tip only half-flickered.
A dazzling red light suddenly tore through the darkness like the first ray of dawn.
Riddle's body flew backward like a broken puppet, Lockhart's wand flying from his hand in a silver arc through the air, landing steadily in someone else's grasp.
As this hand grasping the wand suddenly appeared, its owner—a spectacled elder also came into everyone's view.
Against the rooster's uplifting background call, Dumbledore said in a gentle voice.
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