ALL 40 FREE CHAPTERS ON MY PATREON ALREADY -patreon/TheUncrownedKing
--
Back from Grimmauld Place, Li Feng leaned on the window ledge of the Leaky Cauldron, nursing a cup of tea while the crescent moon hung thin and pale above London. Night lessons with Dumbledore would start tomorrow. Evenings gone. Daylight entry into Hogwarts? Too many eyes.
Tonight was his window. If he found the Room of Requirement, perfect. If not, the basilisk's crawlways would do. Once he mapped a way in, he could build a hidden nest under the castle, slip in and out with portals, and vanish without a trace.
Decision made, he turned. "Kreacher, you know the Shrieking Shack?"
The elf tilted his head. "Master means the haunted house in Hogsmeade village? Kreacher knows."
Good. No need to learn the map. If Kreacher knew it, they could port straight in.
Still, shack? The movie had shown a miniature manor house. Lost-in-translation? Or a director with too much budget and not enough restraint? Maybe in Britain "shack" meant "villa." He hadn't read that shallowly.
Li Feng smirked. "That 'haunted house' is just a back door into Hogwarts."
Kreacher blinked, half-curious, half-afraid of a scolding.
Li Feng considered. He could scout solo, but if Kreacher balked at using the "ghost house," it would be a constant nuisance. Better to settle it now.
"Shrieking Shack means Lupin," Li Feng said. "Bitten young. Werewolf. Nobody figured him out during school because of that place. Know why?"
Kreacher tapped fingers, then brightened. "The Shack appeared when Lupin did?"
"Exactly." Li Feng grinned. "Dumbledore gave him a safe house to transform. Guarded the exit with a Whomping Willow. Villagers heard the screams, assumed ghosts, and spread the stories. Dumbledore let the rumors grow—it kept them away, kept Lupin's secret safe."
He raised his cup. "Now it keeps our secret. We use the Shack to move in and out."
"We?" Kreacher blinked.
"Of course. The Leaky Cauldron costs too much. Once we've got a nest in Hogwarts, we live there. You'll still slip out for supplies. So learn the routes."
He shoved the spellbook and the Time-Turner notes into the elf's arms. "After you drop me at the Shack, go translate this into Chinese, copy it into the book. And watch that trunk like your life depends on it. That's everything I own. If it vanishes, I'll cry in the bathroom."
House-elf Apparition squeezed him through space like a lemon through a press. When he dropped into the Shack, Li Feng bent double, gasping.
No way is teleportation always this miserable. If it is, rename it the "milking spell" and be honest.
Kreacher waited until he steadied. "Master, Kreacher will copy the notes now." He set torches and tools on the floor, then vanished.
Li Feng stretched his shoulders, stomped around the creaking stairwell, and muttered, "Entrance is under here somewhere. If I can't find it, I'll buy huskies. World-class demolition experts."
A hollow thump answered his boot.
"Found you." He flicked his wrist. A pulse of force shattered the rotten boards, revealing a black throat of tunnel.
He brushed his eyes—Eye of Insight—and lit a torch before dropping into the dark.
The crawlspace wound its way to the Whomping Willow's roots. He peered up. The tree's branches were knotted in slumber, heavy and lethal even at rest. He didn't risk waking it. One scan with the Eye, then he slipped out low, keeping to the shadows as he followed the narrow path onto the castle grounds.
Hogwarts at night was a fortress of silence. No humans crossed his path for half an hour. Ghosts, though—plenty, drifting like pale security drones. With the Eye open, he dodged them easily.
But no hideaway yet. He leaned against cold stone, annoyed—until a long, sinuous shadow glided through the wall. Fast, fluid. Like a serpent swimming the pipes.
The basilisk.
Sorry, big guy. Your stare doesn't punch through walls. You can't see me. But I can see you.
The petrified students always turned up in hallways. Which meant the serpent could crawl out of the drains.
Follow it? Map the den? Or weld the door shut while it's out? His inner saboteur stirred. All I need is steel, a welder, maybe a generator. Or portal to a power plant and borrow a line.
He cracked jokes to keep the nerves down while tracking the serpent's aura. If it popped out of a drain, he wanted head start distance.
A painted archway trembled, and the basilisk nosed through. Before its eyes cleared the wall, Li Feng flicked his fingers and slid into the Mirror Dimension—stepping sideways out of reality.
Let the monster try glaring through this. The Mirror severed demons from Hell. It could handle one oversized snake. If it couldn't? He'd retreat home and spend a month raising rooster eggs and fat toads. A basilisk farm could rewrite history. Even Thanos wouldn't shrug off a squad of instant-death eye-lasers. Probably.
The serpent slithered on, vanishing deeper into the walls. Li Feng grinned, snapped a portal, and dove back into reality—straight into the pipe behind it.
Seven bends, eight turns, and he tumbled into a pit strewn with white bones.
He glanced at the branching tunnels, sighed, and flipped a mouse skull into the air. It clattered down pointing one way. He shrugged and followed.
A short trek later, an iron door loomed, embossed with coiled serpents.
"Really?" He rubbed his cheek. "I ignore the Chamber for five seconds and it throws itself at me. Right. Parseltongue needed. I don't speak snake. Unless I haul in TNT."
He moved on, rubbing at his eyes—the Eye left them raw after too long—and kept searching.
At last, a wide cavern opened before him. Dry, spacious, untouched. A training ground waiting.
Before carving Merlin's circle into the stone, though, he pressed his palm to the air, testing the weave. If the ambient magic down here didn't match the castle above, training next door to a basilisk would be more than stupid. It'd be suicidal.
Fifteen minutes later, Li Ming sat cross-legged on a jagged boulder, eyes snapping open in exhilaration. The density of magic down here… it's insane.
No hesitation. He traced a Merlin Circle into the stone floor, settled at its center, and let his spirit slip free. The flood hit him instantly—smooth, refined, no backlash. His reserves spiked higher and higher, grinning until his jaw ached. Normal training was a trickle. Here? It was a river. With the Circle amplifying his spirit form, it was an ocean.
Give me a few years in this place and, back in Marvel, even Mordo wouldn't touch me. Maybe not even the Ancient One.
Time blurred until his stomach snapped him back. He broke the circle, crawled through the pipes, and aimed for the Potions wing. Somewhere—cabinet, shelf, maybe desk—Snape's old annotated textbook waited. The Half-Blood Prince's notes were legend, and he wanted them.
Worst case? Kreacher could ransack every classroom once summer started.
He slipped into a storage room—and froze.
"Who are you? I don't recall seeing you before."
The voice was sharp, self-important. Li Ming turned slowly, hands raised.
Pink suit. Blond hair. Smug grin.
"Professor Gilderoy Lockhart," Li Ming said flatly.
Lockhart cocked his head. "Good evening. But you are—?"
The grin sharpened. Li Ming looked past him and called, cheerful: "Good evening, Headmaster Dumbledore."
Instinct won. Lockhart turned. No Dumbledore.
Li Ming stepped in close and cracked him across the skull. Lockhart crumpled without a sound.
Dragging the limp body back inside, Li Ming crouched. Can't show my face around here. Too easy for the Ministry to slap me on a poster. Sorry, Professor. Borrowing your mug for a while.
His shapeshifting wasn't flawless, but under moonlight? Good enough. Filch's cat was already petrified. No one else prowled the halls but ghosts.
He barely stepped out before Filch himself appeared, suspicion in his eyes.
"Didn't Professor McGonagall tell you? All professors, second-floor corridor. Now." The caretaker tugged him along before Li Ming could invent an excuse.
Midnight assembly? This isn't boot camp.
Soon he was shoved into a crowded, torch-lit hallway. Professors huddled around a wall, murmuring. Too many eyes to slip away. He slouched at the back, praying to be invisible.
No luck. Snape's gaze snapped to him immediately.
"Professor Lockhart," Snape purred, "a student has been taken. By the monster. Here's your chance to shine."
Li Ming's mind stuttered. Shine?
"Yes," Snape pressed. "Last night you claimed to know the Chamber's entrance, did you not?"
McGonagall's voice was ice. "Exactly. Handle the beast alone. Let us see those skills you so often boast about."
Fantastic. I wanted a book, maybe a midnight snack. Now I'm volunteered for a boss fight.
Memory clicked—Chamber of Secrets. This was when Ginny Weasley was dragged under. Voldemort's future bride. And who kidnaps the hero's wife? That villain signs their death warrant.
But first, stall. Snape's stare was like a blade.
"I can show you the entrance," Li Ming said slowly, "but I'll need to prepare."
Snape stepped closer, silk over steel. "Preparations? Allow me to assist."
Li Ming edged back. "No need. I can manage."
Snape's lip curled. "Surely you wouldn't waste such a prime chance. And imagine the book you'll write afterward."
He's not letting go. Time to drop something heavy.
Li Ming lowered his voice. "The entrance is in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. But facing the basilisk directly? I can only promise to protect myself. Killing it? Not unless its eyes are destroyed. That gaze—no one survives it."
McGonagall gasped, hand flying to her mouth. "A basilisk? You're certain?"
Li Ming kept his face grim. "Plenty of clues. Harry hears voices no one else can—because he speaks Parseltongue. Spiders fleeing the castle—spiders fear basilisks. Hagrid's roosters, dead for no reason—basilisks dread the crow. Someone's been clearing the field."
McGonagall frowned. "And the petrified students?"
Snape's voice was colder than the stones. "Direct eye contact kills. These children saw it indirectly—through reflections, cameras, mirrors. Hence, only petrified."
Li Ming nodded, letting relief flicker beneath the mask. For now, the bluff had teeth.
--
Read extra free chapters on Patreon! at patreon/TheUncrownedKing