Tom wouldn't kill people – or rather, the initial version of him didn't want to kill.
This was something Wayne felt absolutely sure about.
Of course, if Tom were replaced by Voldemort, he definitely wouldn't have so carelessly tossed the diary away.
He'd have simply incinerated the Horcrux with Fiendfyre and been done with it.
One was calculating, the other deranged – they couldn't be compared.
No one could guess what went through a madman's mind.
Wayne had carefully analysed why Tom would unleash the Basilisk.
There were primarily two objectives.
First: revenge against Dumbledore.
Voldemort's greatest hatred was reserved for Harry, his prophesied enemy who'd successfully defeated him once, making Harry his nemesis.
But Tom's deepest hatred was for Dumbledore.
Young Tom had played the model student flawlessly at school, beloved by all professors and students alike, even becoming Head Boy.
Only Dumbledore had remained suspicious of him, especially after Myrtle's death, doggedly pursuing him.
Forced into it, Tom could only seal the Chamber of Secrets, pinning everything on Hagrid, and behaving impeccably until graduation.
After leaving school, when he sought to remain as Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, Dumbledore blocked him again.
Thus, opening the Chamber and unleashing the Basilisk served to punish Dumbledore, driving the old headmaster from the school.
Actual murders would have been too extreme – not only would Dumbledore be ousted, but the school would close, forcing Tom himself to leave Hogwarts.
The second reason... was to consume the host's vitality gradually, and ultimately their soul.
Each time the diary controlled its host, it gradually gained mastery over their body and soul.
In the original story, Ginny had been affected in this very manner.
However, there were still many mysteries Wayne couldn't be sure about.
According to Harry's account, he had been with Lockhart when the incident occurred. So, who had been controlling the Basilisk to petrify Smith?
Moreover, judging by how events were unfolding now... it seemed his ideological education sessions with Tom hadn't made any difference at all.
Still so short-sighted, still obsessed with petty schemes.
With Hermione and Cho present, Wayne couldn't afford to be too distracted. He could only note down these questions to investigate later.
He gave the two girls a detailed account of his experiences at Beauxbatons.
Though they'd chatted daily through the communication diary, there simply hadn't been enough time.
Those brief moments had to be divided among several people, with occasional discussions about Alchemy with Nicolas, so conversations were always hurried.
Wayne showed them some photographs he'd taken.
Hermione couldn't hide her envy as she gazed at Beauxbatons' gardens and fountains.
While she loved Hogwarts' castle, there truly were too few recreational spaces for students.
Just that large stretch of lawn by the Black Lake.
After spending some more time together, the trio left the Room of Requirement.
Cho and Hermione returned to the common room, while Wayne remained on the eighth floor, waiting for Penelope to retrieve the briefcase.
He felt he desperately needed a Time-Turner – he was barely managing everything as it was.
...
Meanwhile, in the Headmaster's Office.
Dumbledore sat with fingers interlaced, resting calmly on the desk as he pondered.
"How much do you know about the Chamber of Secrets?"
"Do you think the Dark Lord would tell me?" Snape replied from the sofa without looking up. "He never shares his secrets with others, let alone discusses his past."
"The Dark Lord would gladly see every former classmate dead. In fact, most already are."
Snape unconsciously tightened his robes around himself.
"Are you so certain this is his doing?"
"Almost certainly," Dumbledore said, reminiscing. "Back then, Hagrid was expelled and the matter was dropped, but I've always believed he was involved."
"You think he was afraid?" Snape sneered.
"Naturally," Dumbledore replied matter-of-factly. "Everyone has fears. And what young Tom feared most back then was undoubtedly being expelled from the wizarding world."
"It would have meant returning to that orphanage."
"I've no interest in this history," Snape shook his head. "I only want to identify the source – the true culprit."
"The culprit remains unclear, but I do know the source," Dumbledore smiled.
"House-elves cannot betray their masters, yet I've obtained some useful information."
'House-elves?'
Snape abruptly looked up at the old wizard.
"Yes, Mr Malfoy appears to hold some grievances against me," Dumbledore said quietly. "He sent a dangerous object to Hogwarts."
"What was it?"
"I don't know," Dumbledore sighed. "But it seems connected to current events."
"Lucius..." Snape unconsciously ground his fingers together, suddenly struck by a thought.
"Dumbledore, Flint mentioned to me before..."
Snape recounted his entire conversation with Douglas Flint. Upon hearing it, Dumbledore chuckled wryly.
"It seems I'm rather unpopular."
"What did you expect?" Snape sneered. "Your attitude towards pure-bloods has never been satisfactory – always demanding too much of them."
"No, I'm merely ensuring fairness."
Dumbledore corrected him: "They've enjoyed excessive privileges in the past. I'm simply restoring balance."
"If I were truly targeting them, Slytherin wouldn't have won the House Cup six years running."
Snape's expression froze.
He felt this was a veiled criticism.
"What do you intend to do?" The old bat changed the subject. "Shall I question Lucius?"
"He won't admit anything."
Dumbledore shook his head. "We'll have to wait for their next move and see if we can uncover any clues."
"Keep a closer eye on Zabini after you return. And Malfoy too."
"Understood." Snape nodded.
"Enough of these heavy matters."
Dumbledore smiled, waving his hand to summon tea and pastries onto the table.
Snape picked up his tea, ignoring the sweets entirely.
Last time he'd eaten one of those honeydukes sweets, it turned out to be an extra-sugared version that left him unable to stomach anything else all day.
"How were your gains at Beauxbatons?"
"Moderate." Snape took a sip of tea, his tone indifferent. "At least they excel in respecting teachers and tradition."
"Vivacity isn't necessarily bad. I'd prefer everyone to learn joyfully." Dumbledore remained noncommittal.
"Anything else?"
"Nothing worth mentioning."
He shared Wayne's view – academically, Beauxbatons' professors were utterly inferior to Hogwarts' four Heads of House.
What's that? Defence Against the Dark Arts?
My apologies, Hogwarts doesn't offer that subject.
"Incidentally," Snape suddenly asked, "You're unaware what potion Lawrence brewed for the final competition, I presume?"
"Oh?"
"A Flying Potion. His original creation allows half an hour of aerial movement, nearly as fast as broomsticks."
"You'll read about it in the Daily Prophet soon enough."
Dumbledore looked genuinely astonished. "Flying Potion... Can potion-making achieve such feats?"
Though not Snape's equal, Dumbledore was still a Potions Master himself.
Using potions to gain flight sounded nearly inconceivable – hence why no one had accomplished it before.
"Karell tested it personally. Before long, Lawrence will receive another Order of Merlin."
"Truly blessed by Merlin," Dumbledore marvelled. "A student earning the Order through potions, while the professor hasn't."
"I wonder if the Potions professor feels embarrassed."
Snape's face darkened like ink.
If you've nothing sensible to say, then don't speak! Must you twist the knife?!
...
By the next morning, news of Smith's attack had spread throughout the castle.
The recently relaxed atmosphere grew tense again.
Heads of House instructed Prefects to supervise their students strictly – no one was to move through the castle alone, only in groups.
At breakfast, Wayne had acquired a little shadow.
Astoria sat obediently beside him, waiting to be fed.
"You seem even thinner?" Wayne examined the white-haired girl with concern.
"I am thinner," Astoria said weakly. "I haven't been feeling well lately and lost my appetite."
Without complete removal, the curse would continue draining her vitality. The interrupted treatment lasting over a month had clearly taken its toll.
"My fault." Stroking the girl's head, Wayne served her a plate of eggs with tomato sauce. "Eat up. I'll have Gardevoir bring you out tonight."
"Mhm!" Astoria beamed like sunshine.
Just then, Dumbledore entered the Great Hall.
After brief remarks congratulating Wayne's trio on their success at the Wizarding Schools Potions Championship, he awarded one hundred house points to Hufflepuff for Wayne's victory, with Henderson and Russel receiving twenty points each for participation.
Second-year students formed orderly lines behind their Prefects, heading to class.
"Roberts, I need to see the Headmaster. Go ahead without me," Wayne told the leading Prefect.
"Don't be late then," Roberts nodded. "Class starts soon."
"Understood."
Roberts would never permit this from others, but exceptions came easily for Wayne - if trouble arose, it was unclear who'd be protecting whom.
...
Wayne slid into the seat beside Hermione just before the bell.
"Warm my hands," he extended his palms.
Hermione enveloped his larger hands with her soft ones. "What did you discuss with Dumbledore?"
"Just claiming proper rewards. A hundred points for winning the championship? I deserve compensation elsewhere."
"What rewards?"
"You'll see."
Lockhart entered carrying textbooks, his face lighting up at Wayne's presence.
"Behold, our Potions champion returns!"
"Let's applaud Mr Lawrence for bringing glory to our school!"
Students dutifully clapped as Lockhart continued: "You're most fortunate, Mr Lawrence."
"I often wonder why these ancient tournaments, like the Triwizard Tournament, were discontinued during my schooling years. They robbed me of opportunities to win honours for Hogwarts."
The classroom fell silent...
Had Lockhart made such claims at the term's start, many might have agreed.
Now though...
Even his most devoted female admirers couldn't swallow such nonsense, resorting to "he's trying his best" as feeble defences.
"Enough! Today we'll focus on spellcasting techniques..."
Lockhart began reading aloud.
The main reason Lockhart hadn't sunk to Quirrell's level of student disdain was his superior oratory skills. Combined with the genuine knowledge within his books, the lessons remained somewhat educational.
Hermione took notes while listening to Lockhart's stories.
Wayne lowered his head slightly, observing Lockhart through hooded eyes. His skin was deathly pale, his spirits utterly drained—clearly, Tom had sucked him dry.
However, the logic of his speech, along with his consistent behaviour, proved that Lockhart remained unaware of the diary's peculiarities.
With Wayne's discernment, he could tell the man's narcissism and smugness weren't feigned.
So how exactly had Tom managed it?
...
As class neared its end, Lockhart assigned homework before turning to Wayne with a teasing remark.
"Lawrence, even if you've won the championship, you must still make up for the lessons you've missed. It's for your own good."
"You'll need to submit all overdue assignments within two weeks."
"Professor Lockhart." Wayne rose with a smile. "I was just about to share some good news."
"Professor Dumbledore agreed this morning that I needn't complete any homework this term. Developing new potions requires considerable focus, after all."
Even Hermione, who'd been waiting to see Wayne embarrassed, couldn't muster a smile.
So this was the reward Wayne had sought from Dumbledore?
What a clever scoundrel.
The young witch rolled her eyes adorably.
Lockhart hadn't anticipated this move either; his expression froze in surprise.
"You're not lying?"
"Professor, here's Dumbledore's note." Wayne produced and waved a slip of parchment.
"W-well then." Lockhart stammered awkwardly. "Even with Dumbledore's permission, don't slack off. My final exam will be exceptionally challenging."
"Thank you for the reminder," Wayne replied evenly.
Whether you'll live to see the finals remains questionable...
After class, Wayne deliberately approached Lockhart with feigned concern. "Professor, you seem rather fatigued. Do ensure you get proper rest."
The moment he spoke, Wayne paused.
This felt familiar.
He'd said these exact words to Quirrell last year.
Both Defence Against the Dark Arts professors.
Both corrupted by Voldemort.
And both ruined by his schemes...
What remarkable coincidence.
"Thank you for your concern, Lawrence." Lockhart beamed. "I feel splendid, actually. Been researching a tremendously powerful spell lately – quite draining."
"Yes, a spell that could revolutionise our world. I'll demonstrate it to you when the opportunity arises."
"I look forward to it." Wayne smiled politely.
After brief pleasantries, he left the classroom.
Lockhart bent to gather his books, unaware of the eerie glint that had surfaced in his eyes.
...
The weekend arrived swiftly.
As Wayne prepared to visit the Forbidden Forest to transplant some flora for his suitcase-dwelling Pixie-Sprites, Harry and Ron intercepted him by the Black Lake.
"Help me, Wayne!" Harry pleaded. "Who's really opening the Chamber of Secrets? I'm being framed!"