Defense Against the Dark Arts Office
Lockhart scratched away at the old diary with his peacock quill:
"So soon to target the students? Can't we wait a bit? The risk is still too high, right?"
As the ink slowly vanished, Lockhart fidgeted, waiting.
Lately, Tom's replies had been dragging—sometimes minutes before new614 new words appeared.
Even the ink disappearing on his side was slower. It used to vanish the second he finished writing.
"Is something wrong with Tom? He did say he's just a memory…"
Lockhart muttered anxiously. He couldn't bear losing this magical artifact, this "friend" who understood and helped him, or the fame and glory so close he could taste it.
Inside the diary
In the near-replica of the Headmaster's office, teenage Tom lounged in the chair, looking the picture of health—no sign of the weakness Lockhart feared.
"Lockhart, tch. Magical skill of a barely-adult wizard—worse than the top students."
"But he's so easy to manipulate. His desires are blatant. Perfect for steering…"
Tom thought for a moment, then wrote in the fresh diary:
"Your kindness touches me, but didn't you mention a student named Lucien can supply Mandrakes? The antidote's already brewed. The kids will just be out for a few days."
"But if we don't speed things up—if the incident isn't dangerous or sensational enough—how will you become a hero? How will you make headlines?"
"Opportunities don't wait."
Tom wrote the nauseating flattery while plotting ahead.
A student supplying Mandrakes was unexpected, but no big deal. Didn't change the plan.
Petrifying Lucien wouldn't help—the antidote was ready.
And it wasn't time for killing yet.
Tom needed to build strength until this soul fragment could reform a body.
Then the bloodbath begins.
Besides ousting Dumbledore, there was one more name…
The name alone ignited rage and humiliation in Tom's soul.
"Harry Potter!"
"What a joke! How could I be defeated by a baby?!"
"No—that wasn't me. That was 'me' decades from now. Argh—"
"What the hell was future 'me' doing?!"
Through weeks of chats, Tom had learned the major events from Lockhart.
Including the "Dark Lord" shaking the wizarding world.
At first, Lockhart wouldn't even write Voldemort—Tom had to coax it out. Finally, he learned the Dark Lord was Voldemort… was future him.
Tom had been thrilled: future him would wield terrifying magic, reach the pinnacle!
But the result?
Voldemort… defeated by an infant?!
Unbelievable!
Tom demanded confirmation. Lockhart swore the story was: baby Harry Potter defeated the Dark Lord.
Tom's soul fragment nearly shattered from sheer fury!
Decades of study, pushing dark magic to unprecedented heights—and beaten by a baby?
And it's public knowledge?!
"What was future 'me' thinking? Did he lose his mind?!"
Tom forced himself calm. It felt weird—like insulting himself, yet someone else.
He decided: once he had a body, he'd meet Harry Potter. See what was so special about the Boy Who Lived.
Baby defeating the Dark Lord? Not even if he was Merlin reincarnated!
Outside the diary
Lockhart exhaled in relief as the reply appeared—Tom was still there.
But the persuasion made him frown again.
After long thought, he wrote:
"I'll think about it carefully, friend. Are you okay? How can I help?"
In his anxiety, he didn't notice his ink vanished faster this time.
Tom, lounging in the Headmaster's chair, grinned eerily on his blurry face:
"Hooked."
He wrote leisurely:
"My friend, you know I'm just a memory—fated to fade. I'm glad to have known you… I read once that something rich in life force, like dragon blood, might slow the process…"
---
By Hagrid's Pumpkin Patch
"Rooar, thanks a ton, Lucien. Without your help, we'd be short on giant pumpkins this year."
Hagrid hauled massive pumpkins from the patch, stacking them outside the fence for Halloween.
"No problem. By the way, you usually have a count from past years—why the shortage? New pests? Run out of the insecticide I gave you?"
Lucien asked, levitating pumpkins alongside.
Hagrid waved a hand the size of a cauldron, grumbling through his beard:
"Plenty of your potion left. Ain't pests. It's Lockhart—your Defense professor. Showed up outta nowhere claiming he had a pumpkin-enlarging spell. Waved his wand like a fool—shrunk a whole row! Pumpkins the size of my fist! Useless!"
Lucien eyed Hagrid's fist—bigger than a cauldron. Those pumpkins were still decent… but yeah, tiny for magical ones.
Hagrid rarely complained about anyone, but he was on a roll:
"Even earlier, tried teaching me how to keep grindylows outta the well—like I don't know! Then went on about repelling werewolves, banishing banshees…"
"Last time, started yammering about fire dragons, chimeras—tough magical beasts. All wrong info! Asked where to get loads of their blood. Does he think the Forbidden Forest has that stuff?"
Hagrid sighed deeply.
"Finding a Defense professor is impossible now. Everyone thinks the job's cursed. Dumbledore sees through Lockhart, but he might've been the only applicant."
Lucien's ears perked at the blood part.
Tom's request. One person's life force is too slow—magical creature blood would speed it up.
With Lockhart's bestseller money, he'd just buy it from a shop.
…
Great Hall
The annual Halloween decorations were up.
Same old pumpkins, bats, ghosts…
The little bats? Transfigured from candies and snacks—like last year. Catch one, get a treat.
Dumbledore's handiwork. He loved Lucien's idea from last Halloween and kept it going.
Mixed in were some of Lucien's magical candies—random effects, adding extra surprises and laughs.
All along the way, young witches and wizards tried grabbing the snack-bats with hands or spells.
Lucien didn't need to—his arms were full of a huge bag of Honeydukes sweets from Hogsmeade.
Hogsmeade: the all-wizard village near Hogwarts.
Third-years and up could visit on specific Saturdays with guardian permission.
Lucien didn't buy these himself—he could sneak via secret passage or have Luster Apparate him.
No, these were a gift from Filch.
Earlier, Filch had shoved the bag at Lucien, mumbling thanks for saving Mrs. Norris. Didn't know what Lucien liked, so he bought one of everything at Honeydukes.
Brewing the petrification antidote with Mandrakes was easy for Lucien—but it did save Filch's beloved cat.
Filch had stumbled over the words—clearly not used to thanking people.
Lucien accepted the bag: Bertie Bott's, Fizzing Whizzbees, Ice Mice, Jelly Slugs—fully stocked.
Sucking on a sugar quill, Lucien was about to sit at the Ravenclaw table when—
"Lucien! Over here! We've got new clues!"
Harry popped out of nowhere, dragging him to the Gryffindor table.
"Here, have some candy. Happy Halloween."
Lucien grabbed a handful from the bag and shoved them at Harry.
"Thanks! Happy Halloween, Lucien."
At the table, he passed sweets to Hermione and Ron too. Happy Halloweens all around.
"About Mrs. Norris—the writing on the wall mentioned the Heir and the 'monster.' If we figure out what the monster is, how it moves and attacks in the castle, that's a lead…"
Lucien listened to Hermione's logical breakdown. Progress is way faster.
The trio had no specific suspect for the Heir, so they were branching out—starting with the monster?
In the books, Polyjuice into Slytherin common room only ruled out Malfoy and revealed the Chamber opened 50 years ago…
The monster's identity? Harry and Ron asked Aragog in the forest—got nothing clear. Hermione figured out basilisk earlier, from a library book…
Actually not hard to research.
"Someone's been petrified!"
"I think you should know—"
Another Halloween.
Same kind of shout.
Another crisis…
No professors yet. Some students hid in the Hall; bolder ones asked where and ran off.
"Don't panic! Don't run! I'm a prefect—follow my lead—"
The prefect's voice was a rock in the tide.
But splash—the wave of students swallowed him.
Lucien was going to check it out.
From the first scream, he knew: a victim at this timeline meant chaos. The more things changed, the less the original plot helped.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione followed.
Soon, they reached the scene.
Blood-red writing, as always:
"The first…"
Short. Chilling.
Lucien looked at the petrified victim.
A pretty girl with long, curly hair.
He recognized her instantly: Penelope Clearwater, Ravenclaw prefect.
Pushing through the crowd, Lucien drew his wand to examine stiff Penelope.
Definitely petrified. Tom was still in the petrification phase—not killing. Murder would cause mass panic, possible school closure.
That would ruin both Tom's and Lockhart's goals.
Lucien studied Penelope's face: pale, eyes slightly wide, like she'd seen something horrific.
One hand raised, near her face—holding…
His eyes scanned the floor.
A cracked hand mirror lay nearby.
Must've seen the basilisk's reflection.
Meanwhile, whispers spread:
"'The first'? Last time it was just a cat—now a real wizard?"
"Will I be next?"
"Are you Muggle-born?"
"Uh, no, pure-blood…"
"Anyone know her?"
"Penelope, I think. Ravenclaw…"
Fear rippled. Petrification was scary. A monster roaming the castle was scary.
Last victim was "just" a cat—most kids disliked or hated Mrs. Norris.
But this was a person. A fellow student!
Alive and in class that morning—now frozen, skin white as death, eyes wide…
"Meow~"
A skinny gray cat strolled by, yellow lamp-like eyes scanning the crowd, then sauntered off.
"Uh… Mrs. Norris?"
"She's back?"
"Yeah! Lucien brought a whole jar of Mandrake juice—antidote was ready in days!"
"So Penelope will wake up soon?"
"But petrification's still terrifying. What if…"
"Scared of nothing. I'm grabbing an antidote to carry. If I get petrified, one of you sisters feed it to me. Bros? Pass."
"You know, if you're petrified and cured… does that mean no classes or homework for a few days?"
"…"