Read 20+ Chapter's Ahead in Patreon
By now, Sargeras had almost figured out everything he wanted to understand.
His fingertips tapped lightly against his wand, a quiet, rhythmic motion as his eyes swept slowly across the room, lingering for just a moment on each face.
The more he thought about it, the more it seemed like his current situation had taken a turn for the worse. A creeping realization had dawned on him — and it unsettled him more than he cared to admit: this group of witches and wizards, hailed as the best and brightest that Britain had to offer, had somehow allowed such an obvious clue to sit right under their noses for fifty years, completely unnoticed.
Was it arrogance that had blinded them? Or were they simply, painfully, stupid?
The soft tapping of his wand echoed through the silent hospital wing, unnervingly sharp in the stillness. And with each tap, Sargeras felt more and more convinced — if these people were supposed to be his allies, then he might as well be surrounded by fools.
"Harry." His voice broke the silence like a blade of ice. He turned his gaze toward the boy lying on the hospital bed. His tone was calm… too calm, unnervingly flat and steady. "I'm giving you two options."
At the tip of his wand, a faint blue light flickered to life, like moonlight caught in still water. "First," he said, "you help me find the person responsible for all of this. Or second, I erase every single memory you've made tonight."
Harry's breath caught. The word erase sent a shiver down his spine. He couldn't help but notice how, when Sargeras said it, his pupils contracted ever so slightly — just a flicker, but dangerous all the same.
"I'll choose the first one!" Harry blurted out before he could think, louder than he meant to. His voice cracked with urgency. Instinctively, his hand flew to the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead, and he swallowed hard.
"A wise decision." Sargeras gave a faint nod of approval, then shifted his gaze to Dumbledore.
"I also recommend that we begin a full screening of every student and professor in the school—immediately. Voldemort might not resort to the same old tricks, but we can't afford to make assumptions. For safety's sake, no one should be exempt."
Everyone felt a chill run down their spines.
If Voldemort really had returned… then where would he be hiding this time?
Harry's eyes, almost involuntarily, drifted toward the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. The man was standing near the medicine cabinet, fiddling with his hair in the reflection of the glass. As soon as he noticed Harry watching him, he turned around with a dazzling smile — his teeth gleaming unnaturally white in the flickering candlelight.
Harry quietly looked away. No, he didn't think Voldemort would stoop that low. Not yet.
"Professor Greengrass…" Madam Pomfrey suddenly spoke up. Her voice trembled with uncertainty. "Are you saying You-Know-Who might be… possessing one of the students?"
Her hands were clenched so tightly around the fabric of her robe that her knuckles had turned ghostly white.
"It's only one possibility," Sargeras replied, unfazed. "We won't know until we check."
Then he turned toward Dumbledore, who had been silent all this time. "Will you handle the screenings?"
The old headmaster gave a slow, solemn nod. His long silver beard trembled slightly with the motion. "We'll begin tomorrow. In the meantime, none of our other responsibilities can be neglected either." His voice was low and gentle, but there was an unmistakable steel beneath the softness.
Sargeras let out a short, dry scoff that barely passed as a breath. He raised his wand and pointed it directly at Harry. A thin beam of green light shot from the tip, and Harry gasped as sensation returned to his arm all at once.
"I can move again!"
Delighted, he twisted his wrist this way and that. The bones inside made a soft clicking sound as they finished knitting themselves back together.
"Thank you so much, Profe—"
But before he could finish, Sargeras had already turned away.
He was heading straight for the door, and just before stepping across the threshold, without so much as a backward glance, he tossed one final line over his shoulder:
"Remember your choice, Potter."
————————————————————
In the days that followed, Hogwarts underwent a transformation so drastic, it felt like an entirely different world.
Every morning, when the first rays of light spilled through the castle's windows, it seemed as though the whole place had been enchanted. No… that wasn't quite right. The entire castle had been enchanted.
Using Transfiguration, Sargeras had turned Hogwarts into a mirrorworld, a place where every surface shimmered with reflections. The corners of the corridors were fitted with curved mirror panels that gleamed in the light, and elegant prism ornaments now hung from the ceilings like suspended crystals. Even the suits of armor lining the halls had been polished until they gleamed like silver fire.
Whenever sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows, it scattered into a thousand colors, casting shimmering halos and dappled rainbows across the stone walls. Walking through the corridors now felt like stepping into a dream — students would catch countless versions of themselves gliding alongside their reflections, their mirrored selves drifting just beyond reach.
But none of them knew that behind this beauty was something cold. A defense system, disguised as wonder.
Professor McGonagall had also issued a new regulation: every student was now required to wear a specially designed pair of glasses — twenty-four hours a day, no exceptions.
Even the most rebellious students, like the Weasley twins, didn't dare to argue. The moment rumors began to spread that "looking a monster in the eye will turn you to stone," they gave up their usual mischief and obediently put on the comically oversized round spectacles.
The entire atmosphere at Hogwarts had shifted. There was an odd tension in the air, a strange mix of nervous energy and eerie calm. Everything looked more dazzling than ever before, but beneath the surface, the school felt like it was holding its breath.
And in the midst of that uneasy stillness, the school prepared for a sweeping investigation.
Every single person — professor, staff, and students alike — was required to undergo inspection. Officially, the professors claimed it was to uncover whoever had opened the Chamber of Secrets, but among the young witches and wizards, speculation was running wild.
————————————————————
"Do you think they'll really be able to find out who the culprit is?" Ron asked one evening in the Gryffindor common room. He was sitting in front of the fire, talking with a small group of students, his voice low and uncertain. "I mean, how exactly are they planning to check? And what if it's Snape? Wouldn't he just take the chance to get back at everyone he doesn't like…"
"Don't worry. It's Professor Greengrass who's in charge," Harry cut him off before he could spiral any further. As he spoke, his fingers unconsciously traced the spot on his arm where the injury had only just healed.
He didn't say much else, but the firm, steady glint in his eyes said enough. Over the past few days, Harry hadn't done anything foolish. He understood, better than most, what should be said — and what should be kept to himself.
George and Fred chimed in from nearby, joining the conversation with interest. Beside them, Percy and Ginny were also gathered near the fire, listening closely.
"Professor Greengrass is definitely going to catch whoever did it. He'll find the culprit, no doubt about it," Fred said with absolute certainty. "I mean, come on… he's seriously amazing."
"Yeah, he really is," George added, nodding in agreement. "Compared to him, Snape doesn't even stand a chance."
"Obviously…" Ron chimed in, eyes gleaming with excitement. "That hateful old bat couldn't even win in a duel against Professor Greengrass's bird!"
"Who do you think it'll be?" Hermione finally set down her book and joined the conversation, her brow slightly furrowed. "Who could have opened the Chamber of Secrets…"
As a Muggle-born witch, she couldn't help but take the rumors personally. After all, according to legend, it was people like her — those without pure magical blood — who were meant to be 'cleansed.'
"It's gotta be Malfoy!" Ron declared, pounding his fist against the armrest with conviction. "He's been way too quiet lately. That's not normal for him."
Malfoy's past behavior had left such a strong impression that even the smallest change felt suspicious. Now that he wasn't strutting around causing drama, it just made people more convinced he was up to something. Even Crabbe and Goyle seemed to think so.
"Hmph, I hope it's him. That way, once Professor Greengrass gets to the bottom of it, we can finally see him get expelled."
"Just expulsion?" Percy scoffed, jumping into the conversation with the polished air of someone rehearsing a Ministry announcement. "If he really is the one behind it, the culprit might end up in Azkaban."
The group erupted into a storm of overlapping voices, everyone eager to share their theory or suspicion.
But Ginny Weasley said nothing.
She sat curled up in her armchair like a frightened little bird, drawn in on herself, her knees pulled close to her chest. And when Percy mentioned Azkaban, her fingers dug sharply into her palms. Four small crescent-shaped marks bloomed across her pale skin—tiny red welts that throbbed in time with her quickening heartbeat.
The flickering firelight danced in her hollow, unfocused eyes.
————————————————————
The diary had appeared on the very first day of her school year.
She'd been unpacking her textbooks when it slipped out from between the pages of Magical Theory, landing softly in her lap. Its black cover shimmered faintly with a strange, almost oily sheen, as though it were breathing — rising and falling ever so slightly, like it had a pulse of its own.
It was a diary like no other.
It could talk to her. And not just talk… it listened, too. It always knew what to say, always gave her comfort in the gentlest, most understanding words. Whenever she felt sad, it would soothe her. Whenever she was lonely, it would be there.
She had confided in it, told it so much… things she hadn't told anyone else.
She wrote about the boy she liked. The one and only Harry Potter. The famous hero who had defeated the Dark Lord when he was just a baby. She wrote about how amazing he was, how brave, how cool.
She also mentioned a bit of what had been happening at Hogwarts lately.
There was a professor named Greengrass, and he'd gotten into a conflict with Headmaster Dumbledore.
She even confessed how much she really wanted to take Professor Greengrass's class — not just because he seemed interesting, but mostly because Harry Potter was in it.
She also talked about the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor—Lockhart. Her mum absolutely adored him, went on and on about how charming and brilliant he was. But after sitting through just a few of his classes, Ginny had quickly realized the truth: he was all talk. A complete fraud. Of that, she was certain.
No matter what she wrote, the diary always responded with just the right words.
Over time, she began to treat it like her best friend… someone she could trust completely, someone who would never judge her.
On many nights, the soft scratching of her quill echoed through the quiet dormitory as she scribbled across the pages:
Ginny: [I saw Harry again today… he looked so cool and handsome flying on his broom…]
The ink would shimmer faintly before beginning to blur, and then, beneath her words, an elegant reply would slowly appear:
Diary (Tom Riddle):[He is indeed special, isn't he? Just like you are, Ginny.]
…
Ginny: [Mum says Lockhart is the greatest wizard ever, but his lessons are just…]
Diary (Tom Riddle):[Real strength doesn't need to flaunt itself. Take your Professor Greengrass, for example.]
…
Ginny: [I woke up in the corridor again… there were chicken feathers stuck to my robes…]
Diary (Tom Riddle): [Don't worry. Sleepwalking is a common trait in the Weasley family.]
…
But what scared her most were the pieces of time that had vanished.
Moments she couldn't remember at all — only traces left behind, like blood-red writing scrawled across the corridor walls, feathers clinging to her hands, the hem of her robes soaked with mud, her shoes missing completely…
And then the day she saw Filch's cat, frozen in stone, staring with lifeless eyes, something inside her stomach turned to ice.
That was the moment the fear truly took hold.
The screening notice felt like a funeral bell, tolling for her.
It felt like she was the one who had opened the Chamber of Secrets. Like somehow, without even knowing it, she had become the Heir… the one who had continued the legacy.
Even if she didn't understand how.
————————————————————
Ginny suddenly shot to her feet, the teacup slipping from her hands and smashing onto the carpet. In a blur of motion, and to everyone's shock, she stumbled away from the common room, pushing past chairs and cushions as she ran blindly toward the girls' dormitory.
Upstairs, in the stillness of her bedroom, her trembling fingers brushed across the diary's yellowed pages. The ink was already spreading across the paper, and Tom Riddle's elegant handwriting slowly emerged once again:
Diary:[Don't be afraid. I'll always be on your side…]
The diary was burning hot in her hands now, as if it were no longer just a book, but a brand — red and searing like molten iron.
"No…" Ginny whispered, her voice broken and fragile, almost too quiet to hear. "I have to get rid of you. I have to stop this… you're a monster."
Only this time, she didn't pick up her quill. She didn't write those words down.
Not this time.
**
**
[IMAGE]
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Chapter End's]
🖤 Night_FrOst/ Patreon 🤍
Visit my Patreon for Early Chapter:
https://www.patreon.com/Night_FrOst
Extra Content Already Available