Hermione's lips were pressed tight, her eyes locked on Lockhart. Beside her, Cho Chang stood still, too drained to continue casting spells, a faint despair in her gaze.
Marietta, standing nearby, had just carried the petrified Neville to safety a few minutes ago. She glanced at his round face, frozen in terror. Despite being a year younger, he'd shown more bravery than she had.
"Rest assured, as your professor, I would never harm you. This process is completely painless," Lockhart said.
His eyes flicked to the collapsed basilisk in the distance, his mind already spinning a tale of how he heroically subdued the beast. He'd claim the students' collective efforts as his own, describing how he cleverly used the chamber's pillars to outmaneuver the serpent, unleashing dozens of Stunning Spells to bring it down.
His name would headline the papers again. Perhaps another Order of Merlin. Fame and fortune were within reach.
"Obliviate!"
A white glow flickered at his wand's tip—not dazzling, but unsettling.
Cho closed her eyes.
Marietta instinctively stepped back, only to bump into Neville's rigid form. A thought sparked in her mind. Clenching her fists, she charged forward without hesitation.
Like Neville had rushed the basilisk, Marietta ignored casting spells, throwing herself in front of Lockhart's wand.
"Now, Hermione, Cho!" she shouted.
Cho's eyes snapped open, catching sight of Marietta's golden curls from behind. Her usually timid roommate stood resolute, leaving no room for retreat.
Hermione, already moving, stepped aside and aimed her wand at Lockhart, casting a spell she knew by heart.
"Stupefy!"
The white light of the Memory Charm flared, clashing with the red brilliance of the Stunning Spell.
The spells crossed paths, following their wands' directions. Marietta blocked the Memory Charm, while the Stunning Spell hurtled toward Lockhart.
When Lockhart saw Marietta lunge, his heart sank. In his peripheral vision, not only was red light closing in, but his own Memory Charm seemed to hit an invisible barrier and ricochet back.
Both spells struck him, followed by Marietta's fist slamming into his face.
Lockhart's vision went black, and he collapsed, unconscious.
Marietta hit the ground too, her head spinning. A strange joy welled up—she'd finally been reliable.
But she'd lose her memories soon.
Closing her eyes, the world spun faster. Sounds stretched into a ringing echo, making the silent Chamber of Secrets feel chaotic.
"Marietta… Mari…"
Cho's voice called her name.
Then came McGonagall's voice, laced with anger and worry: "Merlin's beard… how could you…"
…
Marietta opened her eyes, as if waking from a dream. The chaotic noise flooded back, like tinnitus, loud and frenzied.
"She's awake! Madam! Madam Pomfrey!"
Someone shouted by her bedside—Cho's voice, unladylike, like when she cheered at Quidditch matches.
Madam Pomfrey hurried over with a silver tray, prying open Marietta's eyes to check her pupils, as if assessing her memory.
"Child, do you know who you are?"
"Marietta… Edgecombe."
"Where are you?"
"Hogwarts, the hospital wing."
"Do you remember what happened before you passed out?"
"…"
Marietta nodded slightly.
Pomfrey examined her thoroughly, asking questions to confirm her memory was intact. Finally satisfied, she patted Marietta's shoulder and gave her a foul-tasting potion.
It was sweet but vile, like honey-fed slugs ground into juice.
Marietta grimaced, barely hearing Pomfrey's instructions until Cho fed her sips of ice water, slowly clearing her foggy mind.
"Merlin's grace! Lady Luck's blessing…" Cho muttered, pulling Marietta into a tearful hug.
Marietta learned what happened next. Someone noticed the entire drama club missing at lunch and alerted McGonagall, who traced them to Myrtle's bathroom.
"When Professor McGonagall reached the Chamber, she saw you punch Lockhart," Cho said, her voice full of relief. "She brought all the injured to the hospital wing… Thank Merlin, no one died. Even Cedric, the worst off, only has a hundred or so broken bones—no life-threatening injuries. The petrified students can be cured with mandrake draught."
Marietta listened, feeling an unprecedented calm.
…
In the boys' ward, a glass of shimmering blue Skele-Gro sat beside a silver tray with bloodstained bandages.
Around a simple bed in the Hogwarts hospital wing stood the headmaster and heads of house, silent. Melvin, the behind-the-scenes orchestrator, lingered in the back.
Madam Pomfrey had summoned them to answer for this disaster. She could tolerate Quidditch injuries—broken limbs or concussions at worst, cracked ribs at best. But this was outrageous.
Nearly twenty students petrified, plus a ghost.
Cedric Diggory, the most severely injured, was wrapped in bandages like an Egyptian mummy, only his eyes visible, pleading silently, stirring guilt in the professors and headmaster.
"Poor boy, that Slytherin basilisk did this to you," Sprout said, pained. "Founder or not, this is too much."
Snape, expressionless, glanced at the bed. The injuries looked severe but were superficial—mostly scrapes. Cedric would be discharged tomorrow.
Of the students who faced the basilisk, only Cedric had multiple fractures. He'd stayed calm, keeping his eyes closed until the serpent's tail sent him flying. The others were petrified earlier.
"Mr. Diggory will be out tomorrow," Snape said coolly. "I doubt he wants us hovering, disturbing his rest. The petrified students aren't in danger—mature mandrakes will cure them. The greenhouses should have some."
Sprout looked troubled. "The mandrakes won't mature until after Easter."
"Can't we buy some, Pomona?" McGonagall asked, her voice sharp with anger, still furious at Lockhart.
"Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade don't stock them. Britain's climate isn't ideal. The school's greenhouses have a batch for teaching, but they're not ready," Sprout explained. "We'd need to import, but with the holidays approaching, it might take until term resumes."
Melvin cleared his throat. "I'll handle the procurement. I have contacts in Budapest who can ship them before the break."
Snape gave him a sidelong glance.
Flitwick's eyes darted, holding Cedric's wand—ash, twelve inches, unicorn hair core, sturdy yet pure.
Dumbledore's gaze was subtle, but he nodded. "Very well."
Pomfrey burst in, glaring at them. "The girls are awake. I won't stop you from questioning them, but keep your voices down. Don't disturb the patients."
Her stern look made even the headmaster nod with a smile.
Hogwarts' hospital wing was well-equipped, occupying nearly half a floor. The outer area had a clinic, with a pharmacy and storage inside. The wards were central.
Normally, a few students with minor injuries didn't need admission, and those who did were separated by curtains. But this time, nearly the entire drama club was here, split into wards for petrified and lightly injured patients.
The last time the hospital wing was this full was another drama club incident—when Kettleburn set the Great Hall on fire.
The heads of house and headmaster moved between beds, talking to the injured students.
The young witches and wizards, propped up on pillows, relaxed upon hearing no one had died. Some even found their bandaged appearances amusing.
The mood lightened. Melvin parted a curtain and approached Marietta's bed, where Cho, Hermione, and Marietta were whispering and giggling.
"How are you feeling, young witches? Any lingering discomfort?" Melvin summoned a chair and sat by the bed.
"I'm fine, just a bit exhausted. I've rested enough," Hermione said, shrinking back to study Melvin's expression, like an otter sneaking fish.
"Professor Levent," Cho said, polite but reserved, typical of a student facing a professor.
"Professor Levent…" Marietta, more nervous, shook her head quickly. "I'm okay. Lockhart's Memory Charm missed. I fainted from the fall."
"You didn't just faint. You threw yourself at a wicked wizard to stop him stealing memories. In Gryffindor terms, that's unparalleled courage. I'll write to your mother—Mrs. Edgecombe will be proud."
Melvin spoke gently.
"I'm in Ravenclaw…" Marietta mumbled, embarrassed.
"Courage, like wisdom, is one of humanity's greatest treasures."
Melvin glanced around. No fruit basket on the nightstand. He pulled an apple and a fruit knife from his pocket, peeling it carefully. "When I first saw you in class, you could barely introduce yourself, always hiding your thoughts, trailing behind Cho…"
The three students listened, Marietta most attentively. She'd thought his attention was due to her mother's business ties, not realizing he'd noticed her earlier.
Hermione's eyes narrowed suspiciously.
Why was he so detailed?
It was like he'd witnessed the scene himself, clearer than her own memory.
"Remember this moment—when you lunged at Lockhart, his terrified look. That courage will guide you through tough choices and oppression in the future."
Melvin handed her the peeled apple.
Marietta took it, nodding dazedly. His words felt loaded, like they meant more.
"Rest well…"
Melvin met Hermione's gaze, paused, then handed her a handful of sweets. He did the same for Cho.
Cho and Marietta exchanged looks, watching him leave, struck again by how different this professor was.
On the other side, the heads of house and headmaster had nearly finished their rounds, gathering what they needed. With Harry still petrified, Dumbledore was in no mood to linger.
After speaking with a few younger students and confirming family notifications with McGonagall, he prepared to face the troublesome Board of Governors.
"Oh…" Dumbledore turned. "Melvin, could you come to my office?"
Melvin raised an eyebrow. "Of course, Headmaster."
…
Three o'clock in the afternoon, the Headmaster's office.
Portraits of past headmasters lined the walls. Dumbledore sat behind his desk, sipping steaming tea, his blue eyes narrowed. A silver ornament on the desk puffed white mist.
Silence stretched for half a cup of tea. Melvin stayed quiet, sensing Dumbledore was choosing his words.
"The legend of the Heir has persisted for a millennium. Fifty years ago, since Myrtle's death, no one found the Chamber until my old friend Tom vanished. I'm very curious…"
Dumbledore sipped his tea. "Melvin, how did you find and open the Chamber?"
His tone was light, his expression curious, not accusatory or interrogative.
"Why assume it was me?" Melvin asked, equally curious.
Dumbledore smiled. "A school club gets tangled in a Chamber incident. Untrained students face a basilisk, with a memory-stealing fraud lurking nearby. Thirty students, yet no fatalities… I don't believe in Lady Luck."
He paused. "Also, Hagrid mentioned Harry and his friends were investigating Myrtle's case after seeing a memory from fifty years ago in a mirror."
"Alright…" Melvin set down his cup. "I admit the memory's hints were a bit heavy-handed, but I couldn't think of a better way."
"Now it's your turn to answer. How did you find the Chamber?"
"Simple. Because of the Horcrux."