On the second floor of the castle, several professors gathered outside the boys' lavatory – the site of this latest attack, which had claimed three victims.
To be precise, two people and one ghost.
Professor McGonagall staggered slightly as she led Snape and Gilderoy Lockhart to where Dumbledore stood.
Malfoy's two lackeys – the dim-witted and the disagreeable – lay rigid on the cold floor, their condition identical to previous attack victims.
More striking was the Bloody Baron.
The Slytherin house ghost floated mid-air like a balloon, his form so insubstantial a breeze might carry him away. Silver mist rose from his body – faint, but undeniably present.
"Baron... is he dead?" Lockhart asked in astonishment.
"Ghosts aren't alive to begin with," Snape sneered, though without his previous hostility. His suspicions about Lockhart had clearly been allayed – he'd been monitoring the man's movements before the attack.
After class, Lockhart had gone to the Great Hall for dinner, returned to his office, and then emerged ten minutes later in different clothes. At that time, none of these victims had been attacked.
"Oh, I meant... more thoroughly dead." Lockhart's face reddened as he circled the three victims, waving his wand intermittently while muttering incantations.
"I think I've made a discovery," Lockhart suddenly announced.
The Heads of House showed no reaction, only Dumbledore murmured softly, "Go on, Gilderoy. We need your brilliant insight."
"Look at their expressions," Lockhart pointed at the trio.
The professors and Dumbledore all turned to look and indeed noticed something unusual.
Flitwick gasped, "Crabbe and Goyle are far too calm, completely unlike Smith!"
"Exactly," Lockhart said smugly. "That's the difference."
"Perhaps neither of them saw the attacker at all. That would explain it. Only Barrow witnessed anything."
Professor McGonagall stared at Lockhart in astonishment as he spoke so knowledgeably.
For the first time, she realised this man might actually possess a brain beneath all the boasting and bragging.
Perhaps he was making such an effort to prove his own innocence.
But what surprised her—and everyone else—even more came next.
After analysing various possibilities, Lockhart suddenly declared, "I suspect the attacker isn't human at all, but likely some kind of beast!"
"Why do you say that?" Dumbledore asked.
"Let's adopt the perspective of the victim," Lockhart said, suddenly embodying the spirit of a detective.
"If the attacker were a student or professor, would you show expressions of terror and shock?"
Snape stroked his chin thoughtfully. "You mean... they saw something that shouldn't normally appear in the castle, hence those expressions."
"Precisely, Severus," Lockhart said approvingly, clapping him on the shoulder. "You're learning to anticipate the answers."
Snape's face darkened like the mud at the bottom of the Black Lake, yet he couldn't formulate a rebuttal.
"So Slytherin's legacy is a monster?" Flitwick murmured. "The Chamber was built a thousand years ago. What creature could live that long?"
"Perhaps it's unrelated to the Chamber," McGonagall proposed. "Someone might simply be using the name to cause trouble and mislead our judgment."
The professors exchanged theories and opinions.
Meanwhile, Dumbledore and Lockhart grew quiet.
Dumbledore was deep in thought, while Lockhart privately congratulated himself.
His recent actions amounted to self-sabotage, having provided several crucial clues.
Why would he do this?
It was all the diary's suggestion.
Only by infiltrating their circle and gaining their trust could he remain safe.
The more one concealed, the more likely mistakes became.
As a writer, Lockhart understood nothing about magic or magical creatures—but he understood dramatic storytelling.
If one viewed current events as a detective novel, his behaviour could be summarised in one sentence:
"Turn to the first page. Now, let's examine the killer's perspective."
He knew precisely which clues appeared significant but were actually meaningless.
After some discussion, just as he'd predicted, each professor felt they'd grasped something yet couldn't articulate it, growing increasingly frustrated.
"Enough," Dumbledore interjected, bringing the discussion to a temporary halt.
"Filius, escort them to the hospital wing. Minerva, we'll need stricter school supervision—Crabbe and Goyle disobeyed orders by sneaking out."
"I understand."
"Pomona." Dumbledore turned to Professor Sprout. "How are the Mandrakes progressing?"
"They're growing exceptionally well." Sprout smiled. "In another month, we'll repot them one final time, then wait just one more month until they mature."
"That's excellent." Dumbledore nodded. "We must ensure the Mandrakes remain protected."
Sprout gave a calm nod. "Rest assured, if anyone attempts to break into the greenhouse where the Mandrakes are cultivated, there'll be no need to send them to St Mungo's."
Lockhart felt a chill run down his spine at these words.
No one could fathom how terrifying the traps set by the Herbology professor might be.
If he were to break in recklessly, he'd likely collapse before even catching sight of a Mandrake.
He had to complete his plan before the Mandrakes matured.
Lockhart steeled his resolve.
...
The next day, the professors began a thorough inspection of the school, searching both for the Chamber of Secrets and any secret passages that might endanger students.
This was destined to be a massive undertaking. To keep students better behaved, Professor McGonagall announced the strictest disciplinary measures before breakfast ended and classes began.
"All students must remain in their common rooms outside of lesson times and mealtimes."
"Anyone caught violating these rules will have all their house points deducted!"
"That's not fair," muttered a Ravenclaw under their breath. "What difference does it make for Gryffindor? They've only got a few dozen points anyway."
McGonagall clutched her chest. Flitwick shot a glare at the complaining student and hastily handed McGonagall a pill.
"Take this quickly, Minerva. Poppy just asked me to bring it."
"Thank you, Filius."
After taking the medicine, McGonagall indeed felt much better.
"Since that's the case," McGonagall forced a thin smile, "then... any house that violates the rules will not only lose all their points but also forfeit this year's Quidditch matches outright!"
Gasps filled the hall.
Wayne could already see several Quidditch Captains glaring murderously.
Wood in particular fixed the Weasley twins with such a fierce stare that they nodded repeatedly before he finally relented.
To that blockhead, house points meant nothing—but the Quidditch Cup was his very lifeblood!
Gryffindor had already defeated Slytherin in their first match this year, overcoming a formidable opponent.
If they could beat Hufflepuff in their March match, the championship would be practically guaranteed.
This year might well be Gryffindor's most promising chance yet.
Satisfied with the Quidditch Captains' reactions, McGonagall dismissed the students to their lessons.
At noon, Crabbe and Goyle's fathers arrived to collect their sons, preparing to take them to St Mungo's for treatment.
Upon leaving, they erupted in fury just as Smith's father had, vowing to report Dumbledore's inaction to the Ministry of Magic.
In truth, the Ministry had already received word early that morning.
Yet they could propose no solutions. Fudge still preferred that Dumbledore would swiftly resolve the issue, after which he could step in with a few conciliatory words, and the matter would be settled.
But when pure-bloods from Slytherin were also attacked, the situation had spiralled beyond his control.
According to rumours, the Ministry of Magic had wanted to send an Auror investigation team, but Dumbledore had firmly refused.
Out of respect for his authority, the Ministry could only wait and observe.
Yet with the perpetrator still at large, the pressure continued to mount.
If another attack occurred... the situation would truly spiral out of control, and Dumbledore would undoubtedly pay the price.
Professor McGonagall maintained a composed exterior, but inwardly, her anxiety grew.
During Transfiguration class, her expression remained stern throughout, her tone uncharacteristically severe. Faced with such a version of Professor McGonagall, even Wayne didn't dare act up, obediently enduring the entire double lesson.
...
At another communal meal in the Great Hall, the topic had shifted to Lockhart's dazzling performance the previous night.
His analysis finally convinced many Ravenclaw students to acknowledge that he had indeed graduated from their house.
"Such remarkable observational skills—no wonder he's accomplished so many extraordinary things. He's just like Sherlock Holmes," a Muggle-born student exclaimed excitedly.
"Who is Holmes?"
"A brilliant detective, a character created by Conan Doyle."
"And who is Conan Doyle?"
"...Never mind, it's not important. You just need to know Lockhart's deductions are impressive."
In any case, this round had somewhat restored Lockhart's popularity.
During Defence Against the Dark Arts classes, the students' enthusiasm surged as they clamoured for him to analyse further and identify the culprit quickly.
Meanwhile, due to Professor McGonagall's severe punishments, several girls dared not sneak out at night to find Wayne, not wanting to become targets themselves.
Only Astoria's situation was exceptional. After explaining to Dumbledore, Wayne took her away for treatment once.
By Saturday, the planned Hogsmeade visit had naturally been cancelled.
With nothing to do, everyone could only play cards and chat in the common room.
Wayne had Gardevoir bring Cho to the Room of Requirement.
"We need to hurry," Cho said. "Marietta is covering for me, but I must be back in the dormitory before dinner."
"Don't worry, there's plenty of time."
Wayne walked several circles before the Room of Requirement. When the door appeared and opened, it revealed not a room but a dimly lit tunnel.
They could have simply had Gardevoir or Ho-Oh Apparate them out directly. Taking the tunnel was merely to satisfy Cho's curiosity.
This secret passage led straight to the Hog's Head, with one peculiar feature: it could only be opened from the Room of Requirement side, not the other way around.
Their sudden appearance gave Aberforth quite a fright.
"What are you two doing here?"
"Craving your cooking, plus handling some business." Wayne reached out to pull Cho through, then urged, "Three crispy pork knuckles, three cod fillets, two butterbeers and a rum, quick."
"But I've already eaten," Aberforth said blankly. It was past mealtime, but Wayne and Cho had deliberately skipped lunch to save their appetites.
"Who said it's for you? We're expecting guests," Wayne replied flatly.
"You little..."
Aberforth was thoroughly irritated but still headed behind the bar to the kitchen to prepare the food.
"With Hogwarts in this state and visits cancelled, you've sneaked out, haven't you?" he called over his shoulder. "Aren't you afraid I'll tell Albus?"
"If anyone else said that, I might be scared for a fraction of a second. But coming from you, it's really not threatening."
Aberforth snorted coldly but didn't argue further.
Wayne led Cho to sit at the bar, which offered a clear view into the kitchen—though not before casting several different cleaning charms over their seats.
Without students, Hogsmeade was eerily quiet.
Usually, at this hour, even the Hog's Head's soundproofing couldn't entirely block the bustle of the main street. Today, the silence was unnatural.
Halfway through cooking, Aberforth suddenly asked, "You said you're expecting friends. Who's coming?"
"If it's someone I dislike, I won't serve them."
"Relax, you're old acquaintances," Wayne replied.
Aberforth grunted, likely guessing a few possibilities.
Soon, the food arrived. The aroma made Wayne and Cho's mouths water.
Precisely then, the pub's door swung open. An elderly man carrying a suitcase walked in. Aberforth looked at him uncertainly before calling out.
"Scamander?"
A smile appeared on the old man's face. "Aberforth, I didn't think you'd still recognise me. It's been too long."
"Senior, come quickly, the food's just been served," Wayne waved at Newt.
Cho had already stood up nervously. "Mr Scamander, hello. I'm Cho Chang, a third-year Ravenclaw student."
This wasn't just because she was meeting a legendary figure, but also because Cho knew about Wayne and Newt's relationship.
So she couldn't help feeling like this was meeting the parents.
"Hello," Newt said warmly. "Wayne often mentions you, says you're a wonderful girl. You can call me Newt."
Speaking such a long sentence was genuinely difficult for someone as socially anxious as Newt.
Wayne looked at him with newfound respect, remembering how during their first meeting, Newt had hidden for ages before daring to show himself.
Cho sat back down somewhat awkwardly as Newt took the seat beside Wayne. Seeing the familiar mush, he eagerly took a bite and nodded.
"Still the same taste as before. Aberforth, your skills haven't declined."
"Of course not," Aberforth said cheerfully at this reunion with an old friend, taking out a bottle of whiskey and sitting behind the bar.
"How are Tina and Jacob?"
"Tina's recently been giving Rolf some preschool education. Jacob and Queenie are travelling the world. All doing well."
"That's good. Come visit together sometime - I won't charge you."
"That would be wonderful."
They ate and chatted, though mostly it was Newt and Aberforth catching up.
After the meal, Newt placed his case on the table and joked:
"So you've finally remembered Tuantuan. Take her away quickly, or she'll eat me out of house and home."
He'd come today specifically to return the Iron-eating Beast to Wayne.