"You're not seriously the Heir of Slytherin, are you?"
Draco's question exploded inside the Room of Requirement and sucked all the air out of it.
Harry felt his blood rush to his face, ears ringing. He'd spent weeks trying to figure out who the real culprit was; how the heck had he suddenly become the prime suspect?
"I—"
Harry was so mad he could barely spit the words out, cheeks burning red. Ron, on the other hand, jumped in first.
"Relax, Malfoy. If Harry really was the Heir, wouldn't you already be laid up in the hospital wing?"
The second the words left Ron's mouth, Draco whipped around and glared daggers at him.
"Weasley, I'm not joking!"
But Ron's comeback loosened the tension in the room like someone had cracked a window.
"Enough," Lucien said calmly. He turned to Harry, who was still fuming. "Harry, take a breath. Think back. You told us that outside Lockhart's office—and at every attack site after that—you heard weird whispering, right? Voices no one else could hear?"
Harry blinked, frowning as he dug through his memories. After a minute he said, uncertainly, "You're saying… that might've been a snake talking?"
The moment the words were out, Hermione spun toward Lucien. "I went to the Restricted Section a while ago and looked some stuff up—Lucien, did you already know—"
She never finished her sentence.
Right in the middle of the room, the air twisted and the temperature spiked. A burst of blazing crimson flame erupted out of nowhere.
A second later, a bird shot out of the fire.
It flapped a pair of still-baby-soft wings, wobbling a little like it had only just figured out how flight worked, but somehow glided perfectly straight to Lucien. He lifted his arm without thinking, and the little bird landed neatly in the crook of his elbow.
It was covered in fluffy orange-red down, looking like a gangly chick that had just gone through the world's most awkward molt.
"Cheep! Cheep-cheep! Cheeeep!"
The bird chirped frantically, instantly yanking everyone's attention away from Parseltongue and heirs and all that mess.
On the floor, the writhing mass of snakes that had been slithering around a second ago suddenly panicked. The moment the bird appeared, they all bolted for the farthest corner and coiled up together like they were trying to disappear.
Lucien listened to the bird for a second, then nodded. "The headmaster needs me urgently? And… an old friend is here? Who?"
"Cheep!" The little bird bobbed its head hard.
Lucien stroked its soft fluff. "A surprise, huh? All right, surprise it is. Lead the way, Fawkes."
Fawkes!
Harry and Ron locked eyes and both let out the longest sigh of relief known to wizardkind.
Back at the start of term they'd crashed the flying car into the headmaster's office and were one-hundred-percent convinced they'd accidentally murdered Dumbledore's phoenix. The guilt had been eating them alive.
Phew. Just like Lucien told them: totally normal Burning Day.
As if it could hear their thoughts, baby Fawkes twisted around in Lucien's arms, aimed its tiny head at Harry and Ron, and unleashed a rapid-fire string of chirps:
"Cheep! Cheep-cheep-cheep! Cheep-cheep!"
Harry and Ron froze, totally lost.
"Uh… Lucien?" Ron asked. "You can understand phoenix, too?"
"What's he saying?" Harry added.
That's when everyone else in the room realized the same thing: Lucien was casually chatting with a phoenix like it was the most normal thing in the world. Was there such a thing as "Phoenish"?
Under a dozen curious stares, Lucien's expression turned… complicated. A little pained, even.
Because what Fawkes had actually said was, well… pretty colorful.
"Uh… Fawkes says hello to your families," Lucien translated diplomatically.
"…?"
Harry and Ron were still trying to process that when Fawkes burst into another dazzling swirl of flame that swallowed both him and Lucien whole. When the fire vanished, they were gone.
Harry stared at the empty air for a few seconds before turning to Hermione. "So… what were you about to say? About the monster in the Chamber…?"
There was no way he was walking around with "Heir of Slytherin, evil mastermind, cruel descendant of Salazar" stamped on his forehead.
Hermione opened her mouth, but Daphne spoke up first, quietly pointing at the far corner where shadows were starting to writtle again. "I think we should probably deal with these snakes first. Lucien kind of forgot to change them back before he left."
Everyone groaned and turned toward the slowly re-animating pile of reptiles, wands raised.
"Potter!" Draco snapped. "Since you can sweet-talk them, why don't you use your little 'gift' and shoo them out of here?"
"Oh yeah? Where should I send them—straight to the Slytherin common room so they can be your bedtime pets?"
"You absolute—Potter, do you want to duel again?! Weasley, you stay out of it—this is a fair one-on-one between men!"
Watching the three boys instantly start bickering and shoving each other, Hermione and Daphne exchanged a long-suffering look and suddenly felt a weird sense of camaraderie.
…
Meanwhile, Fawkes had whisked Lucien straight to the headmaster's office.
The flames cleared, and the first thing Lucien saw was Dumbledore sitting behind the huge desk with a twinkle in his eye and a smile on his face.
The second person in the room—who'd had his back to the fireplace—turned around slowly.
Even though he looked a little younger than Lucien remembered, recognition was instant.
"Mr. Newt?!" Lucien exclaimed, delighted.
——————
Inside the headmaster's office.
"Good afternoon, Headmaster. Mr. Newt."
Lucien nodded politely to both older wizards, gently set baby Fawkes on the perch, then took the seat next to Newt.
Newt looked way better than the last time Lucien had seen him—the lines around his eyes were softer. Lucien figured the "Vigor-Restoring Potion" he'd sent must have worked pretty well; it gently replenished life force over time.
Dumbledore smiled and got straight to business.
"Blaise Zabini woke up after taking the Mandrake Restorative Draught. Just like Penelope Clearwater, the last thing he remembers before blacking out is a huge flash of yellow light."
"He also added one crucial detail this time: he caught a glimpse of shimmering green scales."
"So I called Newt." Dumbledore gestured to his old friend. "The greatest magical creatures expert alive. We've already compared notes and narrowed it down to a few possibilities…"
Newt picked up right where Dumbledore left off. "There are several creatures that can petrify: Medusa, certain types of gorgons, etc. But in these attacks, the victims aren't turning into actual stone—they're more like their life force has been forcibly frozen. Even the Bloody Baron, who's already dead, was seriously affected. That's extremely rare."
Lucien jumped in. "Oh—Harry just confirmed he can speak Parseltongue. At every attack site he heard whispering that nobody else could."
"Parseltongue?"
Dumbledore and Newt said it at the exact same time.
Newt turned to Dumbledore, talking faster now. "Albus, didn't you mention there was always water, mirrors, or something reflective at every scene?"
When Dumbledore nodded, Newt's expression grew grim.
"Then the monster in the Chamber has to be a basilisk. Also known as the King of Serpents."
Dumbledore repeated the word softly, blue eyes narrowing behind his half-moon glasses, long fingers steepled.
Newt went on, "Anything that meets a basilisk's eyes directly dies instantly. But if the victim only sees the eyes indirectly—through water, a reflection, a ghost, even a camera lens—the death effect is massively weakened. They fall into a sort of fake-death state: petrification."
"That would explain the Bloody Baron," he continued. "He's already a ghost—he can't die again. So the gaze just knocked him into this weird limbo."
Lucien added, "Mr. Newt, I read basilisks are terrified of roosters, right?"
"Correct. A rooster's crow is fatal to them."
Lucien pulled a small cage out of his bag; inside was a dozing rooster. "Hagrid told me several of his roosters have been killed recently. He thought vampires or foxes, but I checked the coop myself—no traces of either."
That was the final puzzle piece. Newt looked at Dumbledore with certainty. "Afraid of roosters, indirect gaze causes petrification—every clue points to basilisk."
Dumbledore inclined his head. "Thank you, Newt. You've saved us a great deal of trouble."
Newt gave an shy little smile and waved it off. "Nonsense. You two gave me plenty of clues—this just happens to be my wheelhouse. Happy to help Hogwarts."
Dumbledore suddenly turned to Lucien. "Lucien, do you have any suspicions about who's behind this?"
Lucien was ready for the question. "Headmaster, Professor Snape and I actually talked about this privately. Given Hogwarts'… let's call it 'tradition' in recent years… the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor is always the most suspicious, right?"
Dumbledore adjusted his glasses with a weary smile. "I'm aware Severus has been quite bitter about that, so this year I didn't even ask him."
Yeah, no wonder the Bat had basically given up and started coasting.
"What about you, Headmaster?" Lucien countered. "Have you never suspected Gilderoy Lockhart… or at least done some basic checking?"
"I did try," Dumbledore admitted frankly. "But I found no memories connecting him to the Chamber or the attacks."
Lucien's mind raced. Dumbledore had definitely used Legilimency on Lockhart. And there was no way Lockhart was skilled enough to master Occlumency.
Memories…
So either Lockhart had Obliviated himself—cleverly hiding or temporarily deleting the incriminating ones—or… young Tom Riddle had helped him do it.
Interesting.
"I see…" Lucien said thoughtfully, then casually changed the subject. "By the way, sir, have you found anyone willing to take the Defense post yet?"
The look on Dumbledore's face screamed don't even go there. He looked like he wanted to sigh forever.
"That position… is proving difficult to fill with someone both qualified and brave enough."
His gaze drifted—very innocently—toward Newt, who was suddenly trying to become one with the chair.
"No—no—no!" Newt flailed his hands like he was warding off a swarm of angry pixies. "Teaching? Me? I have no idea how to handle a room full of students!"
"Plus Tina would absolutely murder me if I took the job!"
Lucien had to fight back a grin. Oh, Tina wouldn't just disagree; she'd probably hex Newt into next week if he set foot in Hogwarts again for anything Dumbledore-related.
Dumbledore chuckled at Newt's panic. "Relax, my friend, I'm not trying to rope you in. I was simply wondering—with all the contacts you've made traveling the world—if you might know someone capable, experienced, and… courageous enough to take the post?"
Newt exhaled in relief, then immediately frowned in deep thought. The Defense Against the Dark Arts job was infamous in wizarding circles. Finding a volunteer was like asking someone to juggle cursed blasting powder.
He twisted the hem of his coat for a while, then brightened like he'd just remembered something.
"Well… there is one person who might be willing. It's just… their identity is a bit, uh, sensitive. Or rather, not exactly public knowledge."
He looked up at Dumbledore and added, "Actually… you already know them, Albus."