"The Mandrakes will mature soon, and your classmates will return to you in no time," Professor Sprout announced cheerfully during Herbology class.
Compared to their initial ugly doll-like appearance, the Mandrakes had evolved into... ugly adolescents.
Now, they were eerily quiet and sullen, their eyes closed—a sign of impending maturity. Once they opened their eyes, they'd reach their complete form.
Looking at these foul things, Wayne couldn't help but recall the legendary Ginseng Fruit.
If Ginseng Fruit looked like this, he finally understood why Tang Monk couldn't bring himself to take a bite.
The class's task was simple: just loosen the soil around the Mandrakes.
But everyone moved with extreme caution, afraid of causing even the slightest damage.
Professor Sprout made her rounds, nodding in satisfaction, before finally stopping beside Wayne, gazing proudly at her house's treasure.
"Thanks to the fertiliser you provided, the Mandrakes' maturation cycle was shortened by a full two months."
"What was it made from?" Sprout asked curiously.
"An old recipe from Newt," Wayne explained briefly, mentioning that the key ingredients were Acromantula venom and Mooncalf dung.
Upon hearing this, Sprout looked slightly disappointed.
Mooncalf dung was manageable, but Acromantula venom...
Wayne produced a vial. "Professor, take this. I've more if you need it."
"No," Sprout shook her head repeatedly. "This is too valuable. You should keep it."
"Don't worry, I'll never run short of Acromantula venom." Wayne smiled mysteriously. After several refusals, Sprout finally accepted the venom.
Though she didn't believe his claim.
How could anyone have an endless supply of such precious material? Unless you're keeping an entire colony of Acromantulas.
...
Two days passed in a flash, and the weekend arrived again – Quidditch Match day.
Harry had just prepared to watch the Slytherin versus Ravenclaw match with his friends when he felt a bump against his back.
Turning around, he saw Lockhart wink at him before heading out of the Great Hall.
Harry immediately understood. Clutching his stomach, he said casually to Ron, "You go ahead. My stomach's acting up – need the loo."
Ron didn't think much of it and agreed readily.
Hurrying out of the Great Hall, Harry indeed found Lockhart waiting.
"Professor, what did you need?"
Lockhart spoke in a hushed, excited tone: "Come with me. I've found the Chamber of Secrets."
"Really?" Harry's face lit up. "I'll tell Professor McGonagall!"
"Not yet." Lockhart grabbed Harry's arm. "It's just a theory. I've deduced its location from clues, but it might just be an ordinary passageway."
"I need your help, Harry. If we confirm it's truly the Chamber, then we'll inform the other professors."
Had he said this to anyone else, it likely wouldn't have worked.
But facing Gryffindor's most reckless adventurer, Harry Potter, Harry agreed without hesitation.
As they hurried to the second floor, Harry kept asking how Lockhart had discovered the Chamber.
"I'll be frank, Harry," Lockhart said as they walked.
"Newt Scamander suggested the Chamber's monster might still be a Basilisk."
"And you're a Parselmouth – that's why you hear voices others don't."
"So that's it?" Everything clicked for Harry, increasing his admiration for Lockhart... until he saw their destination and froze.
"Professor, you've got the wrong place – this is the girls' lavatory."
"No, the entrance is here."
Lockhart pulled Harry inside. Fortunately, with the whole school in the Great Hall, no one witnessed their suspicious behaviour.
Even Moaning Myrtle, the resident ghost, was absent, leaving the lavatory eerily empty.
"The Chamber's entrance is right here."
Lockhart pointed confidently at a non-functioning tap.
"Professor... how did you find this place?" Harry asked, eyeing him strangely.
"The pipes." Lockhart had his excuse ready: "All the attacks happened on the second floor, right opposite the boys' bathroom. The Basilisk must have emerged from here and encountered the Bloody Baron along with two students."
"You're a bloody genius," Harry grew increasingly impressed by Lockhart's brain.
"What do I need to do?"
"See the snake engraving on the tap?" Lockhart whispered. "Try speaking Parseltongue to it."
Harry leaned closer and indeed saw a small snake and some markings on the brass tap. After several attempts, his human speech finally transformed into Parseltongue.
"Ssss... (Open!)"
Immediately, the tap emitted a blinding white light and began spinning rapidly. Then the sink started moving too. They watched as it slowly vanished, revealing an extremely wide pipe.
"Brilliant, this is really it!" Harry jumped with joy, looking excitedly at Lockhart. "Shall we go down? The Chamber of Secrets might be right here."
"Of course, let's take a look." Lockhart flashed a mysterious smile and was the first to climb in.
Harry followed closely behind, as if sliding down a deep, dark, and filthy chute. He had no idea how long he'd been sliding or how many turns he'd taken.
But he was certain they were now deep, deep beneath the school.
The two of them shot out of the exit and landed on damp ground.
"Lumos!" Harry raised his wand, illuminating the path ahead.
"We must be deeper than the Black Lake here."
Ahead lay a straight tunnel. Harry eagerly pressed forward, noticing numerous skeletal remains littering the ground—mostly rats' bones that crumbled underfoot.
At the end of the tunnel stood a solid wall carved with two intertwined snakes, their eyes embedded with gleaming emeralds.
Without needing Lockhart's prompting, Harry instinctively hissed in Parseltongue:
"Open!"
The snakes parted, and the stone wall split down the middle.
This time, Harry hesitated before entering, cautiously surveying the interior. The chamber was enormous, its ceiling towering higher than the Great Hall's.
Rows of stone pillars stood in orderly formation. At the far end of the Chamber of Secrets loomed a statue as tall as the room itself—a grotesquely ancient, monkey-like face with a wispy beard that nearly brushed the floor. Harry had never seen an uglier old man.
Was this Salazar Slytherin?
"Professor, I'm certain this is the Chamber," Harry whispered, afraid of waking whatever monster lurked within. "We should find Professor McGonagall and have her alert Dumbledore."
"I don't think that will be necessary."
"What?"
Bang!
A red light struck Harry from behind, knocking the wand from his grip and sending him flying into the chamber.
"Professor, you—!"
The scene felt eerily familiar to Harry.
Last year, he'd trusted Quirrell just as blindly—only to be brutally betrayed.
"Harry, I alone can resolve the Chamber's crisis," Lockhart said. "Bringing you here simply requires a martyr significant enough to provide a fitting conclusion to this grand performance."
Another Body-Bind Curse hit Harry as he struggled to rise, leaving him rigid and immobile on the ground.
Harry noticed five rings on Lockhart's fingers—the spells had emanated from them.
One thought dominated Harry's mind:
'Wayne, you've gotten me killed.'
Harry vowed that if he survived this, he'd stop being frugal and buy more protective gear from Wayne.
This damned school was far too dangerous!
"Lockhart, you're the one who opened the Chamber," Harry accused.
Though petrified, he could still speak. His best hope was to stall until Ron noticed something amiss—there might still be a chance for rescue.
"No, no, I'm not the culprit," Lockhart corrected, his usual theatrical smile gone. He moved to a corner where a steaming cauldron stood. After drinking half its contents, his complexion flushed with vitality.
"I didn't open the Chamber. I'm the hero who stopped the attacks."
"The Boy Who Lived, tragically slain by the Basilisk. The Defence Against the Dark Arts professor valiantly slays the beast, ending the terror."
Lockhart declared with relish: "This will be the first story that's truly mine."
"I've published seven books, but all the stories belonged to others. That's about to change."
"Those books of yours were all made up?" Harry's eyes widened.
"No, not made up. They were real events," Lockhart corrected. "I merely shared other people's memories with the world."
"That's plagiarism!"
"When the original participants don't remember, who can prove it's plagiarism?"
"Now, you know enough, Harry." Lockhart smiled again, producing Tom Riddle's Diary:
"Let me introduce the true culprit behind opening the Chamber of Secrets—a memory from fifty years ago."
With that, he stood before the Slytherin statue and wrote in the diary:
"Tom, help me summon the Basilisk."
"After killing Harry Potter, you must command the Basilisk to close its eyes so I can slay it."
[Understood, Mr Lockhart.]
Tendrils of black smoke seeped from the diary, coiling into Lockhart's body. His gaze grew vacant for a moment as his blue irises darkened to black.
"Tom, what are you doing? Summon the Basilisk now."
Noticing Tom's delay, Lockhart frowned. "You only get two minutes each time. Don't dawdle."
"Mr Lockhart, I lied to you."
"What?"
"After all the... nourishing sustenance you've fed me, the two-minute limit was merely your wishful thinking."
Tom picked up Harry's confiscated wand, running slender fingers along its length. "Thank you for your assistance. You were right—this grand finale does require martyrs. He is one. So are you."
Then, under Harry's bewildered stare, Lockhart returned to the cauldron and poured in a vial of green liquid.
"Mandrake extract. The potion I taught you wasn't just for restoring energy. With this final ingredient, it becomes a resurrection draught."
"Impossible! You're just a memory! You can't come back to life!"
"True, I'm a memory—but one containing a fragment of soul."
"Your soul, your life force... I've nearly drained it all. Of course, I can resurrect."
Downing the remaining potion, Lockhart unleashed an ear-splitting scream. Blood oozed from his pores, staining his purple robes crimson.
"Urgh—!"
Harry retched violently at the sight.
Lockhart's flesh had inverted—no longer recognisably human, just a pulsating mass of gore.
After grotesque convulsions, the diary was engulfed within. Gradually, the mass reshaped into human form.
A tall, strikingly handsome black-haired boy emerged. He vomited onto the floor, expelling the diary, then kicked it aside carelessly. A cleaning charm removed the bloodstains before he approached Harry.
This sequence of horrors had short-circuited Harry's mind. He could only gape at the boy, his scar burning as if splitting open.
The black-haired boy ignored his agony, pressing ice-cold fingers to Harry's scar.
Gritting his teeth against the pain, Harry gasped, "Who... are you?"
"Master Potter." The automatic honorific made Harry blink, momentarily distracted from the agony.
Well. That was unexpectedly polite.
"Damn Lawren..." Tom's face darkened as he muttered a curse under his breath.
He stood up again and took several steps back.
Harry finally began to feel better.
Tom politely introduced himself.
"Hello, Harry Potter. We meet properly at last."
"My name is Tom Marvolo Riddle. You may not know me, but your name is very familiar to me."
"No, I know you," Harry panted. "Special Award for Services to the School."
"Ah, yes, that was me. For driving away the half-giant who endangered the school." Tom smiled.
"You framed Hagrid!" Harry said angrily.
"You don't have time to fight others' battles, Mr Saviour," Tom said coolly. "Voldemort lost to you because of his incompetence, but I cannot stand idly by."
"Today, your death will put an end to this entanglement that has lasted over a decade."
"What does this have to do with Voldemort?" Harry asked, confused.
"Voldemort," Riddle said softly. "Is my past, present, and future."
He waved Harry's wand in the air, spelling out his name.
[Tom Marvolo Riddle]
Then he flicked his wand, and the letters rearranged themselves into a new line.
[I am Voldemort]
"Do you understand now?"
Tom glanced at Harry before striding towards the statue of Salazar Slytherin. He looked up, reached out, and hissed strange words in Parseltongue.
Harry understood.
"Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four!"
The massive face of Slytherin stirred, its mouth opening to form a dark hole. Something moved inside, rustling and slithering.
Harry closed his eyes. He knew it was the Basilisk—one glance into its eyes would mean certain death.
"Don't struggle, Harry Potter. You've defeated Voldemort twice—that's enough to secure your place in history."
"Open your eyes and face death with dignity. Don't make me look down on you."
Tom let out a triumphant laugh, but then, from somewhere, music began to play. Tom jerked his head up.
The music grew louder, ethereal and sacred, filling the air with boundless power. A flame descended upon Harry, breaking the Body-Bind Curse.
Harry finally dared to open his eyes and cried out in joy.
"Ho-Oh!"