Harry drifted into a strange place.
Everything was pure white, broken only by weird, swirling wisps of fog that kept trying to worm their way into his head.
He dodged them on instinct; something told him they were bad news.
After wandering for what felt like forever, he came to a huge, crumbling old house.
There, sitting on the broken steps, was a black cat with fur like ink.
Harry had never had a dream this vivid before. The second he saw the cat, he knew this wasn't real.
Because that cat only existed in the songs of the Castle Spirit Cat Club. Harry had never actually seen it.
"Mr. Castle Spirit Cat?"
He tried greeting it. Right then a wisp of fog slipped into his mind.
Everything blurred.
He saw a colossal Basilisk rear up, swallowing Ron in one bite. At its feet lay Sean, petrified, the Sword of Gryffindor snapped in two. The serpent turned its yellow eyes on Harry.
Then… nothing.
"Wake from fear, Harry."
A calm, familiar voice.
Harry jolted awake with a scream caught in his throat, drenched in sweat, gasping like he'd been drowning.
The black cat gently pushed the fog away from Harry's head with one paw, letting it drift off harmlessly.
"Thank you, Mr. Castle Spirit Cat… you know me? Wait—no—do you know where the Basilisk came from?"
The words tumbled out before he could stop them.
"It was bred by Slytherin," the cat answered, green eyes glowing. "It has lived in the Chamber for over a thousand years. The entrance is in the girls' bathroom on the second floor."
Harry was shaking with excitement. The legend was real. The Castle Spirit Cat guarded the whole school… maybe it was the castle itself.
When you thought about it, owls got angry, cars got angry, mandrakes threw tantrums, curtains sulked, statues had opinions. Hogwarts having a consciousness made perfect sense.
"Can I ask one more thing?" Harry said carefully. He remembered something he'd read:
[Parseltongue can lull a Basilisk into a deep sleep, halting its growth and putting it into a death-like state…]
So someone had put it to sleep with Parseltongue once. Who woke it up? And why?
Was it really Lockhart…?
"Mr. Castle Spirit Cat—who woke the Basilisk? My friends have been fighting it these past weeks. How can I help?"
The black cat tilted its head.
Friends? Someone's been in the Chamber?
It can't be him…
"Tom Riddle, Harry," the cat said. "You need to get Tom Riddle's diary from Ginny, then destroy it with a Basilisk fang as quickly as possible."
"Who's Tom Riddle? What diary? Where do I even find a fang?"
The cat only lifted its head. Fog rose again.
The dream didn't last much longer; it seemed that one sneaky wisp had been the cause.
But Sean didn't mind. He'd pointed Harry straight at the diary. Mission accomplished.
…
Night still cloaked Hogwarts.
A faint scraping sound came from the second-floor girls' bathroom—like something huge trying to crawl out.
In the dim light, a long, blindfolded creature emerged, eyes shut tight, wearing ridiculous goggles.
The Alche-Toad that had lost its goggles earlier was already petrified, lying in the sink.
A moment later the Basilisk vanished just as suddenly.
Forbidden Forest.
Deep under the thick canopy, bottles and vials were arranged in a circle.
Thanks to a few well-brewed potions, Sean had put the Basilisk into a week-long sleep.
It was out cold now. With a flick of his wand, earth rolled over it like a blanket, the head especially wrapped in layer after layer of dirt.
Whitey, currently transfigured into a very proud rooster, stood guard right on top of the buried skull, glaring suspiciously at every ancient tree.
Sean sat nearby, Planning Map open on his lap, waiting for Harry's dot to appear in the Chamber.
His job: make sure the snake stayed asleep and didn't cause any trouble.
Morning bird calls woke the castle.
Great Hall.
Everyone was buzzing about Halloween coming up. Third-years and above got to visit Hogsmeade the Saturday before the break.
Everyone except Harry's table, where the mood was grim.
"So let me get this straight," Ron said, swallowing hard. "You dreamed you met the Castle Spirit Cat, it told you the Basilisk's in the Chamber, it's being controlled by someone named Tom Riddle, and you've got to stab his diary with a Basilisk fang?"
"That's exactly it," Harry said.
Saying it out loud made it sound insane.
"I've never heard of dream magic like that," Hermione murmured, eyes wide with curiosity and confusion. "First Ginny, now you… So the dream cat isn't Sean?"
"Any idea why this Tom bloke wants to control the snake?" Ron asked, nervously smoothing his three-foot essay on "Medieval European Wizard Gatherings" for History of Magic.
The bell rang.
History of Magic was as thrilling as ever.
Professor Binns droned on in his dusty, wheezing voice, exactly like a broken vacuum cleaner. Half the class was already dozing, occasionally jerking awake to scribble a name or date before slipping under again.
Then, for the first time in recorded history, something wild happened.
Hermione raised her hand.
Professor Binns, mid-sentence about the 1289 International Warlock Convention, looked up in total shock.
"Yes…?"
"Hermione Granger, Professor. Could you tell us anything about the Chamber of Secrets?"
Dean Thomas snapped out of his window-staring trance. "What now?"
"Where'd Miss Know-It-All dig up that one?" Ernie Macmillan muttered, lifting his head off his arms.
Professor Binns blinked slowly.
"My subject is History of Magic," he wheezed. "I deal in facts, Miss Granger, not myths and legends."