Chapter 20: Tom Riddle
"…Even I struggle to believe it… No, I don't want to believe it. …But it's the truth, Minerva."
The report of the Basilisk's defeat brought Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore rushing to the scene. What greeted them was a bloodstained corridor and floor, and the pitifully dismembered corpse of the King of Serpents.
Its eyes had been gouged out, its fangs entirely removed, scales scratched and stripped in places, chunks of flesh and organs missing, and even parts of its bones extracted.
Merely defeating it wouldn't have resulted in such a grisly state. Such a level of carnage could only have been caused by someone who continued to attack well beyond necessity.
In other words, the Basilisk's ravaged remains reflected the cruelty of the one responsible.
"How is Miss Granger?"
"In the infirmary. …She's considerably calmer now but still isn't in a state to talk."
"…That's hardly surprising."
The brilliant student who had the misfortune of witnessing this gruesome scene firsthand now lay trembling beneath a blanket in the hospital wing.
Dumbledore, filled with sympathy, walked through the bloodstained corridor and gazed down at the Basilisk.
It had been a monster that terrorized and took the lives of many students, yet seeing it now evoked only pity.
"…In recognition of Miss Beresford's accomplishment, I propose awarding Slytherin 200 points."
"Albus! Are you serious?"
"Regardless of her methods, the fact remains that she defeated the monster… She saved the school.
If we let personal feelings cloud our judgment and fail to acknowledge that, it will surely invite dissatisfaction from the students."
With a wave of his wand, Dumbledore caused the blood on the floor and walls to rise into glistening spheres of water, which he then cast out the window.
As for the Basilisk's remains, he decided to ask Hagrid to bury them in the Forbidden Forest.
No matter how much it had terrorized the students, leaving its body in this pitiful state was too much.
It was only human to want to give it at least a proper grave.
"Albus… I'm frightened. That girl should be expelled from the school immediately."
"And what would that accomplish? If she were to transfer to Durmstrang or somewhere similar, there would be no one to restrain her."
"That's… true."
"If we give up on guiding her, she'll plunge headfirst into the depths of darkness. She would undoubtedly become the second Voldemort—or worse, an even greater calamity."
Dumbledore's blue eyes gleamed brightly behind his glasses as he spoke to McGonagall.
At this school, perhaps, they could keep her in check.
After all, Mirabel did not exude that madness constantly. She occasionally showed moments of calm.
Even this incident could be interpreted as her being consumed by rage after her friend was harmed.
At first glance, she seemed entirely self-centered, treating others as nothing more than trash.
Yet, even that devilish girl was capable of friendship—or so Dumbledore wanted to believe.
"We are teachers, Minerva. It is our duty not to abandon students like her."
"…Albus."
McGonagall pressed her fingers to her eyes, wiping away tears.
These were tears of gratitude and shame for her own shortsightedness.
"I feel ashamed of myself… I was ready to abandon my responsibility as a teacher out of fear."
"Don't blame yourself too harshly. I'm no different in many ways."
"No, you are a great wizard, Albus."
Dumbledore smiled warmly at McGonagall's praise and stepped closer to the fallen King of Serpents.
For now, the most pressing matter was to properly deal with the remains.
Leaving it here any longer would surely traumatize any students who happened upon it.
Lifting the Basilisk's lifeless body, Dumbledore and McGonagall headed outside to give it a proper burial.
The Monster of Slytherin is Dead
The entire school was abuzz with the news: the monster of Slytherin had been defeated.
Slytherin students were practically over the moon, especially after their house received an additional 200 points in recognition of Mirabel's feat. While Gryffindor had claimed the Quidditch Cup, the 200 points Mirabel had earned were enough to secure the House Cup for Slytherin—a victory that even the Quidditch trophy couldn't overshadow.
However, their joy was short-lived as tragedy struck once more. Ginny Weasley, a Gryffindor, had been taken into the Chamber of Secrets.
Though the monster had been executed by Mirabel, the true mastermind—the "Heir"—was still at large.
A New Mission
The ones to act were, as expected, Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and their friend Ron. The trio, accompanied by their professor, Gilderoy Lockhart, headed to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Hermione had deduced that this was the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets.
Of course, Lockhart wasn't expected to be much help. His self-penned autobiographies had recently been exposed as outright fabrications—stories stolen from others' achievements. (Hermione, upon discovering this, had been so shocked she was left speechless.)
Still, Ron had insisted that Lockhart might prove useful in some way, dragging him along against his will just minutes earlier.
The Entrance
"Open," Harry hissed in Parseltongue, addressing the snake-engraved tap on the sink.
The tap glowed, and the sink shifted, revealing a thick pipe large enough for an adult to slide through. It seemed clear this was the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. Somewhere at the end of this pipe awaited the Heir—and Ginny.
"Alright, you go first," Ron said, shoving Lockhart toward the pipe.
"Y-you mustn't do this! This is sheer madness!" protested Lockhart.
"Just go!"
Without further discussion, they kicked Lockhart into the pipe.
"Too much!" Hermione exclaimed in disapproval, but Harry and Ron didn't share her sentiment—they found it amusing. Harry, in particular, had little sympathy for the incompetent professor after being inadvertently injured by one of his failed spells.
Once it seemed safe, Harry and Ron slid into the pipe, followed by Hermione, who carefully held down her skirt as she entered.
The four plunged downward as if on a slide, descending deeper and deeper, passing even the dungeons. At one point, a rat scurried past them, rolling through the pipe and out of sight, though it was hardly worth noting.
The Chamber's Entrance
"Ouch!"
Hermione landed abruptly on the ground at the end of the pipe, wincing as she rubbed her sore backside.
Standing up, she joined Harry and Ron, who were already scanning their surroundings with wary eyes.
Before them was a dimly lit tunnel, its floor covered in uneven stones.
"Is this the Chamber of Secrets?" Hermione wondered aloud as she stood beside her friends.
The tunnel was eerie—its damp floor stretching into an impenetrable darkness, with slimy walls and a dripping ceiling. Bones littered the ground, making it difficult to find a safe place to step.
Proceeding Forward
"Lumos." Harry's voice broke the silence as the tip of his wand lit up, casting a faint glow.
He led the way, followed by Hermione, then Lockhart, with Ron bringing up the rear. Ron kept his wand pointed at Lockhart, wary of any antics. Though Mirabel had destroyed his own wand, McGonagall had loaned him a basic school-issued wand to use in the interim.
"Harry, there's something over there," Hermione said.
"...It's a Basilisk's shed skin."
What they saw was a massive, six-meter-long snake's discarded skin.
Though its presence might have been ominous, they knew the creature that once inhabited it was already dead, slaughtered by Mirabel.
The memory of that terrifying scene made Hermione pale as she looked down, trembling.
"Ahhh…ahhh…"
Startled by the enormous shed skin, Lockhart collapsed to the ground in fright, sitting there as though his legs had given out.
"Completely useless," Ron muttered in exasperation.
Ron pointed his wand at Lockhart, demanding he stand up. But this was a bluff.
Lockhart sprang to his feet with surprising agility, catching Ron off guard. He struck Ron, knocking him down, and snatched his wand.
It had been just a moment of carelessness, but it was enough to tip the scales.
With the advantage now his, Lockhart's trademark radiant smile returned.
"Playtime is over! I'll take this shed skin back as proof and tell everyone I was too late to save the girl. I'll say the sight of your mangled corpses drove me mad with grief."
"You're wasting your time. The monster is already dead! No one will believe you!"
"Oh, they'll believe me. My reputation precedes me… although, yes, that alone might be a stretch. Let's say there were two monsters instead."
Lockhart slowly backed away, keeping his wand trained on the three of them. Hermione, however, discreetly slipped her hand into her pocket, gripping her wand. In a low voice, she spoke to Harry and Ron.
"Harry, Ron. The moment Lockhart casts a spell, I'll block it with a Shield Charm. That'll create an opening—use it to disarm him."
"…Got it."
This plan seemed like their best course of action. Harry nodded slightly and gripped his wand beneath his sleeve. It was all about timing now. They needed to capitalize on the brief moment of surprise when Hermione blocked Lockhart's spell and then disarm him before he could recover.
The thought of Hermione failing to deflect the spell loomed over Harry, but there was no alternative. He had to trust her and wait for the right moment.
Ron, on the other hand, was far less composed.
It wasn't that he doubted Hermione's abilities—he trusted her skills implicitly.
But this was Lockhart they were dealing with—a man who had stolen the memories of countless people. Those individuals weren't just random victims; they were the real heroes behind the feats Lockhart claimed in his books.
Vampire hunters, yeti slayers, monster exterminators—all had their memories erased by Lockhart's Obliviation Charm. Could a mere student's shield really stand up to such a practiced spellcaster? Ron had his doubts.
"Say goodbye to your memories! Obliviate! Forget!"
"Protego! Shield!"
Light burst from Lockhart's wand, only to collide with Hermione's transparent magical barrier.
But Ron noticed something chilling.
Lockhart's spell wasn't the feeble work of the fraud they thought him to be. It was powerful—so much so that Hermione's Shield Charm began to crack under the pressure.
No! It's going to break!
Sensing disaster, Ron acted instinctively. He dashed forward, throwing himself between Hermione and Harry just as Lockhart's spell shattered the barrier.
The spell struck Ron head-on.
His body was flung backward, landing with a sickening thud. Harry's heart wrenched as he saw his friend collapse, but there was no time to grieve.
Ron had created an opening with his sacrifice—it couldn't be wasted!
"Expelliarmus! Disarm!"
A red flash shot from Harry's wand, striking Lockhart's hand and sending his wand flying.
Hermione immediately followed up with her own disarming spell, far more powerful than Harry's. The force blasted Lockhart backward, slamming him into the wall. His limp body crumpled to the ground, motionless like a broken doll.
"Ron!"
Ignoring Lockhart, Hermione rushed to Ron's side.
The Obliviation Charm had hit him directly—was he alright?
They could only hope that, as with most of Lockhart's magic, the spell hadn't worked properly.
But fate wasn't so kind. This time, Lockhart's spell had been flawless.
"Ron, can you hear me?! Do you recognize me?!"
"…Y-yeah… I think so. I'm Ronald Weasley… right? Though… I'm not sure… Maybe not."
"Ron! What about me?! Do you know who I am? It's me, Harry Potter, your best friend!"
"Hmm… yeah, Harry… That's right… Or wait… Puppy Potty? Honey Tucker?"
Hearing this, Hermione burst into tears, while Harry's face fell into despair.
Ron's memories were scrambled, not completely lost, but in terrible disarray.
Harry cursed his own misjudgment, while Hermione silently lamented her inability to protect Ron.
A storm of dark anger brewed within Harry. He wanted nothing more than to strangle Lockhart for what he had done.
Why? Why did it come to this?
That thought kept swirling in Harry's mind as he stood there, utterly stunned.
"…Tch, Ronald Weasley, of all people... What a dud,"
Mirabelle muttered under her breath, clicking her tongue as she lounged in a chair in the Slytherin common room.
Thanks to the network of rats she had established the previous year, she had been receiving constant updates on Harry and his friends.
The rat that had slipped into the Chamber of Secrets when Harry and his friends entered? That, too, was one of the creatures under Mirabelle's control.
This year, her communication network had become even more efficient. All the rats' observations were funneled to Pyotr, her personal pet. Through legilimency, Pyotr's thoughts were directly connected to Mirabelle, allowing her to instantly receive information.
In essence, anything the rats witnessed within the castle was relayed to Mirabelle almost in real-time.
However, the reports she received about Harry and his group were far from satisfying.
"Well, luck wasn't on my side this time… Stealing that fool's memories serves no purpose at all."
Mirabelle sighed, disappointed that her plan had failed.
In the original course of events—according to her knowledge—it was supposed to be Lockhart who lost his memories here. Using Ron's broken wand would have caused his Obliviation spell to backfire, erasing his own memories.
But Mirabelle had subtly altered the scenario.
She had ensured that Ron's broken wand was completely destroyed, forcing him to acquire a functional wand. This made it possible for Lockhart's Obliviation spell to work as intended.
Mirabelle's goals were twofold:
First, she wanted to ensure the incompetent teacher's swift dispatch to Azkaban.
Second, she aimed to wipe the memories of either Harry or Hermione.
The first objective—sending Lockhart to Azkaban—was all but assured.
Not only would his past crimes come to light, but after casting an Obliviation spell on students, no amount of pleading could save him from imprisonment.
Ideally, she would have preferred to personally eliminate the useless fraud, but harming a teacher outright would get her expelled from Hogwarts. Hence, she exploited her knowledge of the original story to orchestrate his downfall indirectly.
As for the second goal, if either Hermione or Harry had been hit by the Obliviation spell, it would have been a major success for Mirabelle.
A person who has just lost their memories is as impressionable as a newborn.
This would have been the perfect opportunity to plant herself in their minds, grooming them to become loyal subordinates—just like Sidney.
Yes, Mirabelle had intended to turn either Hermione or Harry into her pawns.
For Hermione, losing her knowledge would have been unfortunate, but she had already achieved so much in just two years. Mirabelle was confident Hermione could regain her former intellect—or even surpass it with Mirabelle's guidance in magic.
Hermione could have become an exceptionally capable asset.
Her Muggle-born status would have been an added bonus; Hermione could serve as the very symbol of the ideal world Mirabelle envisioned.
As for Harry, he lacked Hermione's intellectual promise but was "The Boy Who Lived," chosen by fate.
Having Harry under her control would have given Mirabelle a trump card against both Dumbledore and Voldemort.
In particular, controlling Harry would have been a powerful check on Dumbledore's actions.
But in the end, it was Ronald Weasley who lost his memories—a development of no significance to Mirabelle.
Even if she brainwashed him, Ron would be no different from the countless followers Mirabelle already had in Slytherin.
It would be like adding one more servant to a pool of a hundred. Not entirely meaningless, but practically worthless.
"Oh well… I suppose I'll have to let this one go."
Trying to manipulate Hermione or Harry through someone as insignificant as Lockhart had always been a long shot.
Deciding to withdraw her hand from the two of them for now, Mirabelle adopted a more passive stance.
Though the basilisk was gone, Tom Riddle remained.
The former star student of Hogwarts, destined to become the Dark Lord in the future.
How would Harry and Hermione fare against him?
Picturing this, Mirabelle allowed herself a cold smile.
Harry and Hermione left Lockhart and Ron behind as they ventured deeper into the tunnel. They had considered bringing them along but decided against it, knowing that the Heir of Slytherin might be waiting ahead. If a battle broke out, there was no guarantee they could protect Ron, who lacked the means to defend himself. Thus, they chose to leave him behind. Lockhart posed a risk, but Hermione had bound him tightly with magic and explicitly instructed Ron not to release him under any circumstances (not that it was even possible without magic).
Leaving them there seemed safer than dragging them further into danger.
"I can't believe it! Professor Lockhart turned out to be such a terrible person! How could I ever have thought he was a competent wizard? That idiot! Useless! Fraud! Self-absorbed jerk! Pretty face and nothing else! I hope he rots!"
"Hermione, I get why you're angry, but please calm down. We don't know what's waiting ahead," Harry said, trying to soothe Hermione, who was still fuming and ranting about Lockhart.
Harry shared her frustration. He wanted nothing more than to storm back and punch Lockhart's smug face until it was unrecognizable. But with the possibility of a formidable foe ahead, he knew they had to remain focused and composed.
Their adversary had unleashed the serpent king, the Basilisk, causing chaos and endangering lives. While Harry didn't know exactly how powerful their foe was, he feared they might rival even Mirabel's capabilities. That thought alone made it essential to steady Hermione.
"I know, I know! But I'm just so furious I can't stand it!" Hermione fumed.
They continued down the twisting tunnel, turning corner after corner until they reached a long, narrow chamber. Pillars adorned with coiling serpents rose to the ceiling, and dim light cast eerie shadows across the room. Nervously, they exchanged glances, gripping their wands tightly, and stepped inside.
As they advanced cautiously, covering each other's blind spots, they spotted a small figure in the room's center. It was unmistakably Ginny, with her vibrant red hair and black robes.
"Ginny!" Harry cried out, running toward her. He tossed his wand aside and lifted her into his arms. Her freckled face was unnaturally pale, and she looked utterly lifeless. Though she wasn't petrified, her pallor was alarming.
Panic gripped Harry as he shook her gently. "Ginny! Don't die! Please, stay with us!"
"Harry, move aside," Hermione instructed.
She laid Ginny back down. Shaking someone unconscious was a dangerous mistake; in the Muggle world, it could exacerbate unseen injuries or conditions, potentially causing severe harm. While magical healing didn't always adhere to Muggle rules, Hermione's Muggle-born background made her cautious about such things.
"She's breathing," Hermione said after a moment, her relief palpable.
Harry sighed, momentarily relieved. But the danger wasn't over. They had to get Ginny out of there quickly before the Heir or something worse arrived. He reached for his wand but realized it was missing. He had thrown it aside earlier, and it seemed to have landed farther away than he thought. Searching frantically, he noticed a tall, black-haired boy leaning casually against a pillar nearby.
The boy was toying with Harry's wand, twirling it in his fingers.
"…Tom? Tom Riddle?" Harry said, astonished.
"What?" Hermione asked, turning to look.
The figure resembled the Tom Riddle Harry had seen in the diary—except his edges shimmered like a ghost, translucent and faintly glowing.
"Is that… Tom Riddle?" Hermione asked.
"Yes, but he's from fifty years ago," Harry said, confused.
Tom smiled faintly at Harry's bewilderment. "I'm a memory. A memory preserved for fifty years in that diary."
Tom spoke while continuing to toy with Harry's wand. Hermione felt an uneasiness creep over her as she observed him. Something about his eyes unsettled her—she had seen eyes like that before. Recently, in fact, and they were terrifyingly familiar.
"I've been waiting for this moment, Harry Potter," Tom said with a calm smile. "The chance to talk to you."
"We can talk later. Right now, we need to leave. Give me back my wand, Tom," Harry demanded.
But Tom ignored him, his tone remaining casual. "No, we're going to talk right here, right now, Harry Potter."
Something was wrong. Tom's demeanor, his leisurely attitude, and the unsettling atmosphere didn't match the valiant, model student Harry had seen in the diary. Before Harry could voice his concerns, Hermione stepped protectively in front of him, her wand pointed at Tom.
"Hermione!?" Harry exclaimed.
"Harry… this man is dangerous," Hermione said firmly.
She recognized Tom's eyes—cold, cruel, predatory eyes that had haunted her recently. While his facial features and eye color were different, that gaze was unmistakable.
"Those eyes… they're just like…" she murmured.
"Like whose?" Harry asked.
The memory flashed vividly in her mind: the day of the Quidditch match, the battle between Mirabel and the Basilisk. Though Hermione had been too terrified to watch most of it, she had, out of curiosity, briefly opened her eyes. What she saw was a scene so horrific that she regretted looking. A blood-soaked Mirabel had stood victorious, her golden eyes gleaming with a terrifying, predatory intensity.
"They're just like hers! His eyes are identical to Mirabel Beresford's when she ripped the Basilisk apart with that cruel smile on her face!" Hermione shouted.
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