The Great Hall.
Warmth mingled with the irresistible smell of food.
The young witches and wizards were buzzing about the upcoming Christmas holidays, swapping plans to head home or stay at school.
Thanks to Lucien supplying enough Mandrake roots to brew plenty of the antidote, every single one of the petrified victims had already recovered and woken up. It had lifted a ton of the dark cloud hanging over the castle.
The Slytherin table was especially relaxed—maybe the most chill it had been in a while.
Most of the kids there came from pureblood families, so the rumors about the Chamber of Secrets heir wanting to purge "Mudbloods" didn't faze them much. A lot of them felt like it was someone else's problem, and some even secretly agreed with it.
But that calm got shattered when the Slytherin prefect—Gemima Farley—burst in.
Her face was ghostly pale, her voice trembling just a little as she dropped the bombshell:
"Blaise Zabini—and the Bloody Baron—got attacked in the corridor. They're both petrified."
The hall went dead silent for a split second, then exploded into chaos.
And this time, the ones freaking out the most? The Slytherins, who had been acting like they were above it all.
"Zabini? He's pureblood!"
"How could it be... a pureblood?"
Panic spread through the Slytherin table like wildfire.
They'd thought they were safe, just watching from the sidelines. Now they realized they could be next.
That cocky sense of security? Gone in a flash. Replaced by total paranoia.
Voices overlapped in a frenzy:
"I'm writing my dad—I need to go home early!"
"Dumbledore and the professors better catch this guy now!"
"It's too dangerous! My mom's on the school board—they owe us answers!"
At the edge of the table, Malfoy's face was dark and stormy.
Blaise Zabini—the kid whose mom was famous for her seven dead husbands and fat inheritances.
Not long ago, Malfoy had even bragged about his custom map right in front of him.
And now this guy he kinda knew was just... petrified out of nowhere?
Malfoy glanced up instinctively, locking eyes with Daphne Greengrass a little ways down the table.
Sure enough, she looked worried too.
Their gazes met—no words needed. The message was clear: We need to talk to Lucien.
Right then, prefects from every house stood up, trying to restore order and shouting:
"Stay calm! All students, follow your prefects back to your common rooms immediately! No lingering!"
The young witches and wizards surged out, uneasy and confused, heading off in different directions through the castle.
...
In some empty corridor at Hogwarts.
Dumbledore's tall figure stood still, his blue eyes sharp behind half-moon glasses as he scanned the scene.
The professors clustered around, faces grim.
The victim, Blaise Zabini, was slumped against the cold stone wall, mouth open in shock, face pale and frozen.
One hand was raised in front of him, like he was trying to fend something off.
But what really creeped everyone out was the Bloody Baron floating nearby.
Slytherin's ghost—his see-through body now pitch-black and rigid, stuck in a drifting-forward pose.
The Baron's face mirrored Zabini's: pure terror.
A ghost... petrified? That blew everyone's minds.
"Even a ghost..."
Professor Flitwick's high-pitched voice was full of disbelief.
The professors huddled around the two victims, murmuring, all confused and stunned.
Why would a ghost get hit too?
Suddenly, a confident voice cut through.
"May I say a few words, Headmaster? Professors?"
Lockhart straightened his fancy robe with gold embroidery and stepped forward, flashing his signature grin.
He cleared his throat, making sure every eye was on him.
Lockhart paced over to petrified Zabini and elegantly pointed his wand at the kid's frozen look of horror.
"Look at Mr. Zabini's expression—it's so real. Right before he got petrified, he must've seen the attacker. And whatever it was scared him half to death."
"We've got the antidote. Once Zabini wakes up, he can tell us exactly who did it!"
Lockhart's little speech painted him as the cool-headed, student-caring prof.
Truth was, it didn't matter if Zabini woke up sooner or later—he'd only caught a quick glimpse of the basilisk.
As the one pulling the strings, Lockhart didn't need to babysit the monster. No real chance of getting spotted.
And a mastermind like him? Why would he want a victim spilling the beans?
Anyway, according to Tom, the plan was almost done.
Once Lockhart "defeated" the basilisk and saved Hogwarts, he'd be untouchable.
No one suspects a hero.
The other professors looked thoughtful, but Snape just shot Lockhart a cold glance and let out a barely audible sniff.
Dumbledore's eyes drifted slowly between Lockhart and Zabini, deep and unreadable behind his glasses.
---
In the Room of Requirement.
"Lucien, you think we should head home early?"
Malfoy's voice was laced with worry.
"Even a pureblood like Zabini got hit. What if the next one's..."
He trailed off, but the fear was obvious.
Daphne was holding it together better than Malfoy, but her pretty eyes showed she was rattled too.
Zabini's attack had hit these pureblood kids like a ton of bricks—they'd always thought their blood made them untouchable.
How long had it even been?
The so-called "Chamber heir" was supposed to be after Muggle-borns, and now he'd gone after one of their own!
Lucien listened patiently as they spilled it all. One word summed up how he felt: rushed.
Lockhart—or rather, the teenage Tom Riddle hiding in that diary—was in a hurry!
They were desperate to crank up the panic, stir up a bigger storm.
Lockhart's angle was easy: the bigger the chaos, the sweeter the glory when he swooped in as the hero.
More victims meant more fear. When he finally "solved" it, the fame would skyrocket.
As for Tom...
Lucien's eyes casually flicked to the corner of the room, where Harry was practicing Disarming Charms with Hermione and Ron.
Tom had Harry pegged as the final target.
That line about "helping Lockhart get famous"? Only a fame-obsessed fool like Lockhart would buy it.
The real puppet master behind the basilisk? Tom himself. Lockhart was just a sucker for his smooth talk.
Lucien had sneaked into Lockhart's office a bunch of times to spy. The guy was stocking up rare stuff like dragon blood to help Tom in the diary regain power.
No matter how Tom sweet-talked him into it, Tom was definitely plotting to come back to life, get a real body.
Once he did—in his teenage form—he wouldn't just slip away quietly. Nah, he'd probably tear the place apart.
Sending the basilisk on a killing spree?
Lucien snapped back to the moment and asked:
"Draco, Daphne—have you written home about this?"
They both nodded.
Malfoy spat it out fast, annoyed:
"Yeah! But my dad just said to stick with others and that Snape would watch out for me. He mentioned the board's pissed at this too—they've never liked Dumbledore anyway."
Daphne was calmer:
"I wrote Mom. She's already complained to the Ministry and the board, trying to put pressure on them."
Both of them sounded icy when they mentioned Dumbledore—like it was personal.
Most old pureblood families just couldn't warm up to the greatest wizard alive.
To them, Dumbledore was too hard on purebloods.
Lucien had chatted with Dumbledore about it a few times. The headmaster wasn't playing favorites with Muggle-borns or picking on purebloods. He was after real fairness—on a big scale.
The "anti-pureblood" stuff? Probably just blowback from purebloods losing their old perks after hogging them for centuries.
If Dumbledore really hated purebloods, Slytherin wouldn't have won the House Cup six years straight.
Dumbledore...
Tom in the diary—his soul split when he was fifteen or sixteen, memories frozen there.
In his ambitious, dark school days, the guy who stuck with him most? Professor Dumbledore.
Dumbledore brought him to Hogwarts, forced him to apologize to orphanage kids with magic, always kept an eye on him...
A naturally twisted kid, fueled by deep hate for Dumbledore?
Tom was absolutely gunning for revenge. But not head-on—unless he wanted to get blasted right after getting a body.
Manipulate the basilisk to rack up kills at school, ruin Dumbledore as headmaster?
Key catch: Dumbledore had to be out of the picture.
Otherwise, with his skills, one basilisk? Easy takedown.
Lucien's mind raced.
Malfoy and Daphne both mentioned their parents' attitudes. Other pureblood families who disliked Dumbledore? Probably the same.
They'd lean on the board or the Ministry to push back.
And Dumbledore? He always played by the rules—respected the school's structure, listened to the Ministry.
All that pressure would tie him up, maybe even force him to leave campus...
That's when Tom would strike.
Would Dumbledore ask him to watch things again, like last year?
Lucien figured if so, he'd ask for "hazard pay"—like a peek at Hogwarts' magical core.
Maybe siphon a little emotional energy from young wizards. He was still short for brewing a Philosopher's Stone.
"Alright, no need to freak out. Here—wear these all the time."
Lucien pulled out a few pairs of different-style glasses.
Malfoy and Daphne exchanged looks, totally confused about why he was handing out what looked like regular specs.
"Lucien, what are these?"
"Life-savers. In a pinch, they block your view so you don't see stuff you shouldn't."
He explained quick, then called over Harry and the others, handing out a pair each.
"Oh, and if frames bug you, I've got invisibles..."
He pulled out a sleek rectangular box with neat rows of thin contact lenses.
These were alchemical gadgets Lucien made with night unicorn tail feathers as the base. Simple effect: blur and block anything tied straight to death.
Staring down the basilisk's killer eyes? They'd auto-shield you.
To everyone else, they looked clear. To Lucien—who'd seen death—they were like pitch-black sunglasses.
"And if you're still paranoid, carry a rooster around. If you don't mind the hassle."
"A rooster?"
The kids all stared at each other, baffled by the random tip.
Lucien clapped to refocus them.
"Okay, lesson time. Let's practice handling creature attacks."
He flicked his wand, and a dozen slithering snakes popped up on the empty floor.
"Eek—!"
Hermione and Daphne yelped, rushing to shield Lucien.
Harry and the boys went pale, looking freaked.
"Malfoy, isn't your house mascot a snake? Scared?"
Ron couldn't resist poking at him.
Stung, Malfoy straightened up, firing back:
"Don't come crying when one swallows you whole!"
Harry turned to Lucien, whispering:
"Why snakes, specifically?"
Lucien smiled faintly.
"Desensitization training. Get used to 'em."
Still puzzled, they tried hitting the snakes with spells to repel or control them.
But for some reason, way more snakes went after Harry.
He was waving his wand like crazy—almost smoking it—but still overwhelmed.
In a panic, he blurted:
"Get away!"
Harry didn't notice his voice go raspy and low, words turning into eerie, snake-like hisses that chilled everyone.
The Room of Requirement went dead quiet.
Everyone froze, staring at Harry in shock.
"Parseltongue!?"
Malfoy blurted it first, his eyes on Harry a mix of shock, suspicion, and a hint of fear.
Harry? Totally clueless.
He looked around—Lucien was chill as ever, but everyone else looked like they'd seen a monster.
"Parseltongue? What's that?"
"You mean me talking to the snakes? Can't all wizards do that? I chatted with a big python at the zoo once—it said it'd never been to Brazil... and that was before I even knew about magic."
Hermione, the know-it-all, jumped in:
"Talking to snakes... Parseltongue is super rare in wizards, especially if you're born with it. Harry, you didn't learn it on purpose, right?"
Harry shook his head, confused.
Learn snake language? That was next-level.
Hermione took a breath.
"Legend says the Chamber's creator—Salazar Slytherin himself—was a famous Parselmouth."
Harry froze, hit like a Stunner.
He flashed back to Sorting in first year—the Hat insisting he was Slytherin material until he begged for Gryffindor.
No way...
Malfoy connected the dots too. He glanced at Lucien, then at Harry—surrounded by snakes but totally fine—and swallowed hard, voice shaky:
"Potter... are... are you the Heir of Slytherin?"