The Great Hall was cloaked in an unusual silence the next morning.
All eyes were fixed on the massive hourglasses high on the wall. The Gryffindor hourglass, once brimming with rubies and far in the lead, now stood a notch shorter than Slytherin's emerald-filled one. The sparkling red grains trickled down, as if quietly announcing something inevitable.
Oliver Wood collapsed onto a bench, hands gripping the tablecloth so tightly his knuckles turned white. Staring at the 100-point gap, his throat bobbed, but no words came out.
Gemma Farley, a Slytherin prefect, crouched beside him, gently placing a hand on his trembling shoulder. Ignoring her own house loyalty, she whispered, "Don't do this, Oliver. The competition's not over yet…"
Across the hall, the Slytherin table erupted in barely suppressed snickers. Marcus Flint slammed the table and stood, his eyes gleaming with triumph. "Well, look at that! From the clouds to the mud overnight. Did you lot blow up Gryffindor Tower or something?"
Flint's laughter grated like rusty metal, stinging the ears. Though Slytherin had lost 50 points too, that 100-point swing had thrust them back into first place.
Just then, Draco Malfoy strode into the hall, his platinum hair glinting coldly in the morning light. Hearing Flint's taunts, he paused, a mocking smirk curling his lips. The sting from Ginny's spell grazing his cheek last night, the humiliation of being pinned down by the Weasley twins, and Norbert's indiscriminate dragon flame—all of it now fueled his bravado.
"I know why," Draco announced, his voice sharp enough to cut through the hall.
Every head turned toward him. Chest puffed out, Draco decided to embellish last night's events. "The Weasley brats snuck into the Forbidden Forest, messed with some magical creatures, and got 50 points docked each. Really doing Gryffindor proud, aren't they?"
Wood whipped around to the Gryffindor table. Fred, George, and Ginny were huddled in a corner, their red hair like flickering flames, heads bowed. Wood scrambled up, storming over to grab Fred's collar. "Is it true? What the hell did you do?!"
"He got 50 points docked too, didn't he?" Fred shot back, neck stiff, but George yanked him back. Ginny's shoulders shook like leaves in the wind, tears welling in her eyes. If she hadn't insisted on dueling Malfoy, if she hadn't been outmatched…
At the other end of the table, Harry chewed on a sausage, frowning as the argument unfolded. Hermione nudged his arm, whispering, "Last night, when I got up, I thought I saw firelight toward the Forbidden Forest…"
She paused, then added, "Do you think that 'magical creature' could be Norbert?"
Harry swallowed his sausage and took a sip of orange juice. "What else would make Malfoy run into the Forest at night besides that Norwegian Ridgeback?"
Glancing at Draco's smug face, Harry continued, "Bet it was Ginny's duel with him. Fred and George probably followed to keep an eye on her."
"Duel?" Hermione's eyes widened, suddenly recalling Ginny's flushed face asking her about defensive spells. "No wonder she kept asking me how to counter Petrificus Totalus…"
Meanwhile, Wood was still growling at Fred, his voice thick with despair. Harry set down his cup and called out, "Wood! Save your energy! If we can win by over 100 points against Ravenclaw in the final match, the House Cup's still ours!"
"You think it's that easy?" Wood snapped, eyes bloodshot. "Slytherin's still got their match against Hufflepuff! If they score more points—"
"Then you can yell at Fred until the match starts," Harry cut in, his calm tone carrying an undeniable weight. "Anger won't make the sand in that hourglass flow backward."
Wood froze, his grip on Fred's collar loosening. Gemma patted his back. "Come on, let's take a walk by the Black Lake."
As they left, Hermione turned to Harry, her eyes shining with determination. "I believe you can do it."
Harry shook his head, fingers tapping the table absently. "I'm just the Seeker. Getting 100 points depends on the Chasers scoring fast and Wood guarding the goal like a fortress."
Hermione opened her mouth, then said, "The final match is scheduled—"
"After exams, because of the Chamber incident," Harry finished calmly.
The days slipped by in a blur of tense final exams. On the History of Magic test, Harry scribbled "Albus Dumbledore" for every fill-in-the-blank, uninterested in ancient wizarding councils.
When the last exam ended, Hogwarts' sky was strikingly clear, the Quidditch pitch's grass glowing vibrant green. The Gryffindor-Ravenclaw showdown was finally here.
---
The Quidditch stands were packed, colorful scarves weaving through the air. Gryffindor's red dominated overwhelmingly. Hufflepuffs, unwilling to see Slytherin win, swapped their yellow scarves for red, and even a few Ravenclaws snuck into Gryffindor's section. Slytherins, though secretly rooting for Ravenclaw, kept their green scarves on.
Hermione, wearing a red scarf, sat high up, next to Hagrid, who was decked out in a red robe and waving a massive lion banner. Thanks to Lockhart's book, Hagrid's academic record had been cleared by the Ministry, letting him proudly wear Gryffindor's emblem again.
Wood stood at the pitch's center, gripping his broom so hard his knuckles whitened. In the locker room, he'd slammed the tactics board, barking, "We don't just need a win—we need a 100-point lead! George, Fred, control those Bludgers and buy the Chasers time. Angelina, keep the offense tight, don't give Ravenclaw a chance to counter!"
Harry sat on his broom, adjusting his goggles. The sun was blinding, and he squinted at Ravenclaw's lineup. Cho Chang, on her Silver Arrow 2000, scanned the sky intently for the Golden Snitch. Clearly, Ravenclaw's strategy was to lose by as little as possible.
Harry glanced at the stands. Hermione was waving at him. He gave her a thumbs-up.
"On your marks!" Madam Hooch's whistle pierced the air.
The Nimbus 2001 shot upward, Harry's stomach lurching before adrenaline took over. Ravenclaw's Chasers struck first, passing the Quaffle like a streak of fire toward Gryffindor's goal.
"Hold it, Wood!" the stands roared.
Wood dove like a hawk, his long arm snatching the Quaffle mid-flight.
The Gryffindor stands exploded in cheers. Hagrid leapt up, waving his "Gryffindor Will Win" banner, voice hoarse from shouting.
The match was fierce. Fred and George, like twin red whirlwinds, aimed Bludgers with deadly precision, forcing Ravenclaw's Chasers back. Angelina seized the chance, breaking through with the Quaffle and scoring a clean arc through the hoop—10 points!
But Ravenclaw hit back. Roger Davies, shielded by his team, dodged Angelina's block and scored, keeping the gap tight.
Half an hour in, Gryffindor led by just 30 points. Wood shouted from the goal, "Push harder! We need more!"
Harry's eyes scoured the sky. He'd spotted the Snitch, tucked in the shadow between clouds and stands. He licked his lips—it wasn't time yet. A 30-point lead wasn't enough.
But Cho was drifting toward the stands. Did she see it?
Harry made a bold move, speeding in the opposite direction. Cho, startled, swerved to follow him. He led her in a loop, then stopped mid-air. Glancing at the stands, he saw the Snitch had vanished.
Cho realized she'd been played. Gryffindor needed points, so Harry wouldn't grab the Snitch yet. His feint meant the Snitch had been near her.
Seeing her frustrated look, Harry decided to stall. "Cho!" he called, pulling up beside her broom. "Heard Diggory from Hufflepuff confessed to you?"
The rumor came from Cho's friend Marietta Edgecombe (the one who'd later snitch to Umbridge).
Cho knew it was a distraction but couldn't help responding. "Don't be ridiculous. Cedric and I are just friends. He's a nice guy…"
Harry noticed her ears turn red. It wasn't fair, but he pressed on. "Really? Someone saw you two kissing behind a suit of armor…"
Cho didn't reply. Her broom shot upward, rocketing toward a cloud on the pitch's east side. Harry followed her gaze—the Snitch hovered there, its wings glinting.
No time to think. Harry chased after her. Their brooms sliced through the air, wind howling in their ears.
"Harry! Stop her!" Wood's yell echoed from below.
Harry saw the Quaffle in Ravenclaw's hands again. In a flash, he used the Nimbus 2001's speed to pull alongside Cho and bumped her broom. She wobbled, losing balance, and shouted, "Shameless!"
Ignoring her, Harry dove, shoulder-checking a Ravenclaw Chaser. The Quaffle slipped free, and Angelina swooped in to score.
The score hit 110–30, an 80-point lead.
"Not enough!" Harry shouted to Wood, blocking another Ravenclaw advance.
Angelina scored again—20 more points. The score reached 130–30.
Harry's heart pounded. It's enough!
He spun his broom, streaking toward the goalpost like red lightning. Cho chased, but it was too late—Harry's fingers closed around the cold, tiny Snitch.
The crowd fell silent for a split second, then erupted in deafening cheers. Gryffindor's team swarmed Harry, hugging him tightly. Wood, tears mixing with sweat, sobbed, "We did it! We did it!"
In the stands, Hermione flung her arms around Ginny, who smiled with relief. The Slytherin section was deathly quiet. Flint, face ashen, stormed off the pitch.
As Harry landed, he heard Malfoy complaining to Madam Hooch, "…Potter fouled her! It should be invalid…"
But Harry didn't catch the rest—a bushy-haired figure rushed toward him.
"Harry, I knew you could do it!" Hermione squealed, hugging him. Nearby, Wood kissed Gemma Farley, who'd run to him. Snape sat in the stands, face like stone.
---
The morning before leaving Hogwarts, Harry trailed Dumbledore, carrying a sack under a Levitation Charm, stuffed with bloody venison for the Basilisk—enough to feed a starving pride of lions.
They passed through quiet corridors to the abandoned girls' bathroom. Dumbledore shooed away a curious Moaning Myrtle. Harry took a deep breath, hissing in Parseltongue. The faucet slid open, revealing a dark, bottomless passage.
Inside, shadows hinted at something massive. Dumbledore lit his wand, its blue glow illuminating a pile of shed Basilisk skin, scales glinting dully.
"It hasn't had decent food in ages," Dumbledore said, examining the scales. "Tom only woke it to attack, otherwise leaving it here to fend for itself."
He stood, his shadow flickering on the stone wall. "So we'll feed it to keep it from 'taking a stroll.'"
Harry lit his wand too, following Dumbledore deeper, his boots splashing in puddles. "Professor, why not just kill it?" he asked, the wandlight catching Dumbledore's face. "It hurt so many people."
Dumbledore paused, his expression softening. "When you revealed the Chamber's existence to Hogwarts, as the castle's recognized Headmaster, I learned a few things," he said calmly. "Salazar Slytherin left the Basilisk to drive Muggle-borns away, not to kill them."
"So that's why Angelina and the others were only Petrified!" Harry realized, then frowned. "But you said Myrtle was killed by the Basilisk fifty years ago…"
"Maybe it had just woken from slumber and couldn't judge its surroundings. Or perhaps Tom delivered the killing blow," Dumbledore said, shaking his head, his blue eyes glinting. "The details are lost to time, swollen and unreachable. We'll never know why Salazar hid such a beast here. Some mysteries are meant to sink into history."
Harry swallowed his next question. He'd thought about using Parseltongue to ask the Basilisk about Myrtle. But seeing Dumbledore's gaze into the darkness, he let it go. Besides, he kind of liked the creature—its shimmering scales and sleek form were only slightly less impressive than his Runespoor, Humphrey.
"Come on," Dumbledore said, moving forward with his lantern. "It must be starving."
At the tunnel's end, a massive door blocked their path. Harry stepped forward, hissing, "Open."
The door swung wide, revealing a long chamber with an ancient stone statue of Slytherin. As Harry tossed the venison onto the floor, Slytherin's mouth opened, and the Basilisk's massive form slithered out.
Dumbledore, having charmed his eyes for protection, studied the thousand-year-old creature. The Basilisk caught the scent of meat, letting out a low, eager whine.
"Eat," Harry said softly in Parseltongue.
The Basilisk lunged, its fangs tearing into the meat, the sound echoing in the cavern as saliva dripped, pooling on the floor. In moments, the venison was gone. It raised its head, licking Harry's face like an oversized dog begging for scraps.
"Looks like it's taken to its new master," Dumbledore chuckled, heading toward Slytherin's open mouth. "Come see Salazar's real treasure trove."
Beyond was a wider chamber, lined with tall bookshelves. Ornate oak frames were caked in dust, most shelves empty except for a few moth-eaten pages in a corner. Dumbledore traced the faded gold lettering on a shelf, sighing. "Now I understand. Tom's advanced dark magic came from these—Salazar Slytherin's manuscripts and a medieval compendium of forbidden curses."
Harry stared at the empty shelves, picturing a young Riddle poring over these texts by night. The missing books were likely fueling Voldemort's evil now.
As they left, the Basilisk trailed Harry, its massive body nearly blocking the passage. He stopped, turning to Dumbledore with pleading eyes. "Professor, let me take it with me. I can use Parseltongue to keep it from hurting anyone. Your suitcase could hold it."
Dumbledore shook his head, his blue eyes reflecting the Basilisk's form, his tone gentle but firm. "Harry, its venom kills instantly, its gaze slays those who meet its eyes. Even if you control it, accidents happen."
He paused, resting a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Some creatures are meant for the dark—not because they're evil, but because their danger doesn't fit in the light. Let it stay here, safe, and keep others safe."
Harry looked at the Basilisk's wrinkled neck as it licked puddles on the floor. Finally, he nodded, hissing softly, "Stay here. I'll bring more food next time."
The Basilisk seemed to understand, letting out a low hiss before slithering back into the Chamber. As the door closed, Harry could still hear the faint scrape of scales, like a silent goodbye.