As Percy's words trailed off, he realized his slip.
"After all, even Professor Snape could be the heir of Slytherin," he stammered, scrambling for an excuse. "Anyway, it's good you're back safely."
Harry thanked him and walked over to join Ron and Hermione.
"You're finally back! What did Professor Dumbledore want?" Hermione set down her book, scooting closer.
"To give me instructions," Harry replied casually.
Hermione and Ron's eyes widened in alarm.
"Professor Dumbledore's been attacked?" Ron asked nervously, his voice dry and trembling as if he might swallow his tongue.
Hermione didn't say anything, but her expression echoed Ron's thoughts.
Harry shook his head. "No. He just wanted to prepare me, in case he's forced to leave the castle without capturing Tom."
"Shouldn't that be the professors' responsibility?" Ron exhaled in relief, shaking his head as if trying to clear it.
Hermione shot him a sharp look. "This is the Dark Lord we're talking about!"
"He's bound to come after Harry," she added grimly.
Ron clenched his fists and nodded. "But Professor Dumbledore will definitely stop him."
"Maybe even tonight," Harry said reassuringly. "Lockhart's leaving the castle tomorrow. Tom won't be able to resist making a move."
Ron blinked in confusion.
Wait, what?
Wasn't this supposed to be about defeating the Dark Lord? How did Lockhart come into it? Sure, getting rid of that pompous fraud was great, but what did he have to do with the Dark Lord?
Were they secretly connected somehow? Did they have... a complicated relationship?
Hermione seemed to be deep in thought.
In the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor's office, Lockhart sat stiffly at his desk, clutching a quill. His hand hovered over a sheet of parchment, trembling, unable to begin writing.
"Do I really have to do this?" he whispered anxiously.
A voice, one only he could hear, replied.
"No, of course I don't want to leave like this," he muttered in response.
"But... but is this really the only way?"
"Of course, I'm more important! I'm Gilderoy Lockhart, the wizard with the most charming smile..."
"Yes, yes, you're right. Hogwarts needs me to save it."
"You're not lying to me, are you?"
Taking a deep breath, Lockhart finally began writing the message he had been rehearsing in his head.
The letter was short, less than twenty words.
He tapped his wand against the parchment and incanted, "Gemino."
The parchment wiggled slightly, but the duplication spell failed.
Frowning, he tried again.
This time, the parchment burst into flames.
Frantically, he grabbed a book and smothered the fire. Sighing heavily, he rewrote the letter twice by hand and sent it off using the Floo Network—a privilege he had obtained from the Ministry, given his frequent correspondence with journalists.
One copy was sent to The Daily Prophet's star reporter, Rita Skeeter.
The other went to Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic.
Unbeknownst to Lockhart, his every move was being closely monitored by Dumbledore. The letter's contents had already been seen by the professors.
"Urgent: Come to Hogwarts immediately. There's been a murder."
McGonagall's face turned a ghastly shade of green.
To harm a student... How dare he?!
She clenched her wand tightly, her knuckles white with tension. She wanted nothing more than to burst into the office and cast a Scourgify spell on Lockhart's brain to scrub out his filth.
But they waited.
The next morning.
Led by their heads of house, the students cautiously made their way to the Great Hall. They arrived safely without incident.
Once seated, the professors didn't return to the staff table but instead sat at the very ends of the house tables near the doors, their wands never leaving their hands.
"Why do all the professors look so tired?" Ron asked, peering at McGonagall. Her skin was sallow, and dark circles framed her eyes. He glanced over at Flitwick at the Ravenclaw table—he looked just as haggard as he had at the start of the term.
"They waited all night," Harry said, cutting into his lamb chops. His eyes flicked toward the staff table. Dumbledore was there, as were the other professors—all except one.
The culprit: Professor Lockhart.
"Waited for who?" Ron asked, pulling his head back.
"Our dear Tom," Harry said curtly. "But it looks like he didn't show."
Flap flap!
Owls swooped in, undeterred, delivering the morning post.
Today, however, there seemed to be an unusually large number of owls.
A brown owl landed in front of Harry, dropping a copy of The Daily Prophet. It extended a leg, and Harry counted out five Knuts to pay it.
The bold headline on the front page caught his eye immediately:
"Murder at Hogwarts: A Failing Headmaster?"
The accompanying photograph showed Hogwarts under a dark, stormy sky, alongside a candid shot of Dumbledore frowning deeply.
"Murder?" Hermione glanced over and rolled her eyes. "How irresponsible can these reporters be? Hogwarts is supposed to have had a student killed? Utter nonsense."
"Oh..."
"Rita Skeeter?"
"What an unethical journalist," Hermione muttered, disgusted.
Harry skimmed the article. "According to a reliable source within the castle..."
He looked up at the staff table.
It couldn't be one of the heads of house. So, who?
But his thoughts were interrupted. The overwhelming number of owls swarmed the staff table, dropping bright red envelopes in front of Dumbledore.
Hissssss.
The howlers burst into flames one after another, their messages screaming accusations before igniting.
"Dumbledore! How dare you?! A student has died, and you still have the audacity to remain at Hogwarts—"
The shouting abruptly ceased as Dumbledore snapped his fingers, extinguishing the last of the letters.
But the damage was done.
The words were already out there, and the crucial accusation had been made.
The students erupted in panic.
The thing they feared most had finally happened.
A basilisk was one of the most dangerous dark creatures. There was no way luck could hold forever—someone was bound to die.
They craned their necks, whispering and counting heads to ensure their friends were still present.
Dumbledore cast a Sonorus charm to address the students.
"Rest assured, no students have died. Those who were petrified remain safely in the hospital wing," he announced calmly.
The students finished counting and confirmed no one was missing. Since Marcus Flint, no one else had been attacked.
But then why had the letter claimed otherwise?
BANG!
The doors to the Great Hall flew open.
Cornelius Fudge marched in, flanked by a squad of stern-looking Aurors.
"Dumbledore," Fudge said, his voice booming with authority, "due to your negligence leading to the death of a student, you are hereby summoned to London."
He lifted his chin, exuding self-importance.
"Hogwarts will be temporarily overseen by Rufus Scrimgeour, head of the Auror Office."
"The Aurors will purge the castle of any lurking dangers."
"Oh, and that half-giant groundskeeper you've been shielding—Rubeus Hagrid—he'll be coming with us as well."
A heavy silence fell over the hall.
Before Dumbledore could respond, a new sound broke through the tension.
Clack, clack, clack.
Weak, hurried, panicked footsteps echoed from outside the Great Hall.
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Powerstones?
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