Snape in Spinner's End
Snape's black robes blended almost perfectly with the shadows as he fixed his fathomless dark eyes on Lucius Malfoy.
The evening light slanted through a high window, casting a cold glow on Lucius's platinum-blond hair.
"A Basilisk roams the castle," Snape's voice was icy, sharp as a blade, "and this 'Tom' who controls it just happens to be tied to a diary. Are you really telling me, Lucius, that you have nothing to do with that diary?"
Lucius's lips curled into his usual sneer, his fingers brushing the serpent-head of his cane. "Severus, watch your tone. The Malfoy family doesn't take kindly to baseless accusations."
"Baseless?" Snape's cold laugh cut through the air as he stepped closer, his robes stirring a chill breeze. "The Ministry raids Malfoy Manor, and suddenly that diary turns up in Knockturn Alley, landing in Blaise Zabini's hands. I don't believe in coincidences that convenient."
Lucius's face darkened, a flicker of panic in his eyes quickly masked by arrogance. "I have no idea what you're talking about. Maybe someone's stirring up trouble to distract from the real problem—"
"The real problem is the Dark Lord," Snape interrupted, his voice dropping to a near-cruel whisper. "Do you think he doesn't know where that diary went? Do you think when he returns, he'll buy that it was just an 'accident'?"
Lucius's grip on his cane tightened, the snake's eyes glinting coldly. "I was serving the Dark Lord while you were still pining over that woman, Severus. Don't lecture me with your guesses."
"I'm just warning you," Snape said, his gaze pinning Lucius like a viper. "Think about your next move. Voldemort despises betrayal, even if it's an 'honest mistake.' If he finds out you tossed his Horcrux around like a weapon, do you think Malfoy Manor's walls will stop an Avada Kedavra?"
"That was a Horcrux?" Lucius blurted, shocked.
"Oh? You didn't know?" Snape sounded just as surprised.
Lucius's face drained of color, his lips pressing into a tight, rigid line.
Snape studied his tense profile, then stepped back into the shadows. "Think carefully. Keep deluding yourself, or start planning a way to survive."
With that, Snape turned and left, his robes sweeping across the stone floor, leaving behind a chilling echo.
Lucius stood frozen, his knuckles white around his cane, his silver-gray eyelashes casting deep shadows. Snape's words had struck like a venomous thorn, piercing his deepest fears.
---
Draco's Doubts
Draco still couldn't quite believe it—Blaise, tied to the Chamber of Secrets.
That night when Dumbledore took Blaise away, Draco had been wide awake. Truth be told, most students couldn't sleep that night (except maybe Ron).
When it all went down, Draco's first reaction was disbelief, followed quickly by fear.
The next day, Dumbledore stood at the Great Hall's entrance and announced the attack was over.
"…Mr. Blaise Zabini was coerced," Dumbledore said. "I ask you all not to look at him differently…"
The students barely paid attention to Blaise. They erupted in celebration, hearing only that the crisis was over, the petrified would soon return to their Houses, and the curfew and no-solo-walking rules would be lifted.
But Draco knew better. Just before Dumbledore's speech, Lucius Malfoy had sent a letter.
My son, Severus tells me Hogwarts' crisis is resolved. Slytherin's Chamber has been destroyed. But be cautious of Blaise Zabini…
Weeks passed, and Draco noticed Blaise seemed mostly the same. The only change? His usual charm with girls had faded, and Penelope Clearwater returned every gift he'd given her.
Draco remembered Blaise staying calm, as if he'd expected it all.
Though Blaise had once been a close friend, distancing himself hurt Draco. But he couldn't forget Blaise's words at the Dueling Club—something about them felt off. So Draco decided to heed his father's warning and keep his distance.
On Valentine's Day, Draco received, as expected, a gushy letter from Pansy.
---
Ginny's Valentine
Sunlight streamed through the Gryffindor common room windows, scattering warm patches across the carpet.
Ginny thought the weather was perfect, much like Harry's handsome face, which always made her feel at ease.
So she decided to write an anonymous love letter. Lavender had assured her it was fine.
"Trust me, Ginny," Lavender had said confidently. "No one's embarrassed to get a love letter on Valentine's Day. Not getting one is what's awkward—especially for a cutie like you!"
Lavender's words echoed in her mind as Ginny clutched the neatly folded letter, her fingertips digging into the parchment, her heart racing like a trapped Cornish Pixie.
The morning passed, and she still couldn't muster the courage to send it. Then she spotted Lockhart in the Great Hall.
From a distance, Ginny saw Lockhart at the entrance, waving a stack of heart-stamped envelopes and shouting, "Ladies and gentlemen! Let Professor Lockhart deliver your heartfelt messages! First-years or seventh-years, I'll get them to the right hands—free of charge!"
"I had a flock of cupids lined up to deliver these, but a certain basement-dwelling professor chased them out of the castle," Lockhart added, waving a copy of Dancing with the Basilisk while promoting his new book.
Ginny took a deep breath, smoothing the letter. She'd practiced the handwriting over and over—no shaky lines, just simple words: "…Your eyes are as green as a toad… I wish I could stand by your side like Hermione… In my dreams, you're my hero."
She hadn't dared sign it, only drawing a wobbly Golden Snitch at the bottom.
Gripping the letter, Ginny pretended to pass by Lockhart, her voice barely a whisper. "Professor, could… could you give this to Harry Potter?"
Lockhart flashed his dazzling grin, winking as he took the letter. "Oh, young love! Leave it to me, my dear! I'll make sure Potter gets this sweet surprise by afternoon tea!"
Ginny didn't dare look up. She bolted up the stairs, hiding behind the banister to peek.
When she saw Lockhart tuck her letter into a basket labeled "Harry Potter," she pressed her burning cheeks, torn between excitement and fear that Harry might laugh at her clumsy words.
---
Lockhart's Deal
Lockhart had planned to resign at Christmas, but Dumbledore summoned him.
In Dumbledore's office, Fawkes the phoenix preened on its perch, golden tail feathers glowing in the sunset.
Lockhart sat stiffly, his bright purple bowtie slightly askew—clearly rattled by Dumbledore's opening line: "We need to talk."
"Gilderoy," Dumbledore said, tapping the desk lightly, his gaze steady, "I hear the castle's girls are always lingering around your office. There've been reports you're using afternoon tea book discussions to… bother female students."
Lockhart straightened, flashing his signature grin. "Oh, Headmaster, you're joking! It's just the natural enthusiasm for a bestselling author—you know how my fans are!"
"I also know," Dumbledore cut in, his tone calm but firm, "that three seventh-year girls missed Herbology because they were writing you love letters. Hogwarts is a school, not your personal fan club."
Lockhart's smile faltered. He rubbed his hands, scrambling. "I'm just spreading love and warmth, like I did in France—"
"Enough." Dumbledore slid a parchment across the desk. "I have a proposal. Write a new book. Call it Dancing with the Basilisk."
Lockhart's eyes lit up, forgetting his discomfort. "You'd let me write it? A tale of facing that ancient creature? It'll outshine Dancing with the Banshee!"
"Not just a tale," Dumbledore said slowly. "The book must reveal the truth about the Chamber of Secrets from fifty years ago—who really opened it, and why Hagrid was wrongly blamed."
Lockhart's excitement dimmed. "You mean… clear Hagrid's name?"
"In exchange," Dumbledore said, his gaze kind but sharp, "I can overlook those complaints about your behavior with students."
Lockhart tapped the parchment, weighing vanity against survival. A book exposing the truth could save his reputation, dodge trouble, and even paint him as a "champion of justice"—it was perfect.
"Of course!" Lockhart slapped his thigh, then resumed his polished demeanor. "Clearing an innocent man's name is every great wizard's duty! I'll make sure all of Britain knows Hagrid's truth. Dancing with the Basilisk will be a magical masterpiece!"
Dumbledore nodded slightly. "Good. I hope your pen is as powerful as your words."
Lockhart stood, adjusting his bowtie, already plotting. "I'll start gathering material! You'll have a draft on your desk next month!"
As he turned to leave, Dumbledore stopped him. "Gilderoy, no Hogwarts students' names in the book. Use aliases."
Dumbledore's tone left no room for argument, so Lockhart nodded.
Months later, the Daily Prophet headline blared: Gilderoy Lockhart's Dancing with the Basilisk Saves Hogwarts! Professor Lockhart Uncovers Slytherin's Chamber and Battles Its Beast… Yet it noted a "basement-dwelling professor" seemed reluctant to let the Chamber close, tied to their House's founder.
The book's release made Lockhart Hogwarts' darling again. The girls who'd distanced themselves over the tea incidents flocked back.
But Snape's face was thunderous. Anyone with a brain knew who Lockhart's "basement professor" was.
So on Valentine's Day, Snape banished every cupid Lockhart had summoned to the castle.
---
Harry's Lesson
In Dumbledore's office, Fawkes perched quietly, letting out a soft trill now and then.
"Control your magic's output, Harry," Dumbledore said, holding a plain wand, his tone steady. "Think of it like water—sometimes a trickle, sometimes a river, but always under your command."
With a gentle wave, Dumbledore conjured a soft white glow in the air, shifting its brightness with precise control.
"Try it with Lumos. Make it as faint as a firefly, then as bright as daylight, then back to calm."
Harry raised his wand, taking a deep breath.
At first, the light flickered, unsteady.
But as Harry focused, a strange force seemed to guide him—memories from the Horcrux fragment making it feel effortless.
Within moments, the wand's glow obeyed his will: from a barely visible glimmer to a blaze that lit the room, then softening to a gentle, moonlit shine, the transitions smooth as if he'd practiced for years.
Dumbledore's eyes flickered with surprise, then deepened into thought. He'd expected Harry to need days, even with the Horcrux's help, but he'd mastered it in minutes.
The Horcrux's influence is stronger than I thought, Dumbledore mused, deciding to speed up the lessons.
"Well done, Harry," he said slowly. "Your talent exceeds my expectations."
Harry felt a mix of surprise and an odd familiarity, as if the power had always been his.
Dumbledore paused, as if making a decision. "Since you've grasped magic control so well, we can move to something more advanced." His tone grew serious. "As we've discussed, an ancient, dangerous spell—the Fiendfyre Curse."
"Fiendfyre?" Harry echoed, realizing Dumbledore was finally teaching him the spell that could destroy Horcruxes.
"Yes," Dumbledore nodded, his eyes grave. "Its flames are wildly destructive, capable of burning through most magical defenses… even Horcruxes. But it's incredibly hard to control. One misstep, and it can consume you."
He raised his wand, the air around it growing hot. "Focus on your purest inner strength, but keep it tightly leashed. Never let the fire's chaos take over. Watch my basic demonstration."
A crimson spark flared at his wand's tip, blooming into a small, eerie blue flame. Though tiny, it radiated a heart-stopping heat and power.
Harry stared, the Horcrux fragment in his mind stirring, as if resonating with the spell's strength.
Gripping his wand, Harry knew this was the most dangerous—and perhaps most vital—spell he'd ever learn.