Chapter 156

~ 48 Advanced Chapters Available now on my Patreon! Ron noticed Hermione struggling to hold her ground, his face etched with desperate worry, terrified that she might be overpowered by Pansy standing across from her. "Come on, Hermione!" he urged silently. Harry furrowed his brow. To him, Pansy’s strength seemed unnaturally pronounced. By all logic, a second-year student shouldn’t possess such magical prowess. Of course, it could be attributed to Pansy’s family background—pure-blood heritage often came with a certain depth of knowledge—but last year, when she clashed with Hermione, Pansy clearly didn’t have this kind of skill. Could it be that Voldemort, disguised as his mother last year, had trained her? That didn’t quite add up either. Even Voldemort couldn’t turn a complete dud into a prodigy overnight. Harry’s gut told him there was something fishy going on—something hidden beneath the surface. For a fleeting moment, a spark of insight flared in his mind. Could it be Voldemort, lurking within Hogwarts? Harry lowered his head, mulling it over, his thoughts increasingly leaning toward that possibility. But then a burst of cheers snapped him out of it. "Well done, Hermione!" Ron shouted, clapping enthusiastically. Harry looked up to see Hermione clutching Pansy’s wand in her other hand. "How’d she win?" Harry asked, nudging Ron with his elbow. Ron grinned. "Hermione raised her wand, disarmed Pansy with an ‘Expelliarmus,’ and that was that—simple as anything." Harry lifted his head, puzzled. He glanced at Hermione, then at Pansy, who looked thoroughly unwilling to accept defeat. What was going on here? He turned to Snape, noticing that the professor, who had been sitting rigid moments ago, now slumped back in his seat, relaxed. Could it be that Tom, from last term, had taught Pansy this one trick? Harry shelved his doubts for the moment, deciding he’d take it up with Dumbledore later. For now, even if he was certain Pansy was under Tom’s influence, he had no grounds to act. He couldn’t prove Tom’s existence, so consulting Dumbledore, the headmaster, was the safest bet. Besides, with Hermione taking her down in one move, no one would believe Pansy was being controlled by Tom anyway. "That was intense," Hermione said as she stepped off the dueling platform, a smug look on her face. "I thought she’d be tougher, but it turns out she only had that one move." "Don’t get careless, Hermione," Ron said, still shaken. "I thought you were this close to getting pinned to the floor by her." "Oh, thanks, Ronald," Hermione replied, rolling her eyes. "Next time, maybe wish me luck instead of imagining me getting flattened." "But it all worked out, didn’t it?" Seamus chimed in with a cheerful grin. "Shame Professor Lockhart would never let me up there—I’d have blasted them all sky-high." "He’d better not," Neville muttered from the side. "Or Madam Pomfrey would have her hands full." Seamus wasn’t having it. He clapped Neville on the shoulder and said, "Neville, mate, I don’t even complain when you’re melting cauldrons in Potions." Neville opened his mouth to retort but found himself speechless. It was true—Seamus always took the brunt of the fallout in Snape’s Potions class alongside him, never once grumbling. Then again, Neville never minded Seamus’s little explosions in Charms either. Maybe that’s just how good mates worked. The dueling club stretched on past ten o’clock, finally wrapping up amid the students’ reluctant groans. Watching others duel was genuinely entertaining—like spectating a Roman gladiator match, utterly captivating. Since first-years hadn’t learned any proper dueling spells yet, they were relegated to the roles of audience or cheer squad. The real action came from the fifth-years and up. Even after returning to the dorms, everyone buzzed with excitement, dissecting the duels and debating who the top fighters were in each year. For the second-years, it was undeniably Harry—but he wasn’t thrilled about it. Beating up on beginners wasn’t exactly something to brag about. After the club ended, Harry slipped quietly into the Map Chamber. "Glad you still remember me, Harry," came a voice. Veratia stood within her portrait, brows furrowed, her tone tinged with faint resentment. Harry went straight to the point, dodging her jab. "The goblins told me Gareth stashed some gold in a vault—I saw his ledger," he said. Veratia didn’t sidestep as he’d expected. Crossing her arms, she replied, "So you see, I’m willing to do all this for you, but you can’t even bother to visit me in the Map Chamber—not even once a week." "I’ve been chasing the Basilisk’s trail," Harry said, shoulders slumping. "I’ve been searching for clues lately, but I’ve come up empty." "Not entirely empty, though," he added. "The upside is, during today’s dueling club, I spotted someone suspicious." "Someone suspicious?" Veratia echoed. "Yeah, suspicious." Harry recounted Pansy’s performance at the club, then said to Veratia, "As far as I know, last year Pansy Parkinson could barely cast a decent hex. In less than a year, she’s improved this much—it’s honestly shocking." "That doesn’t prove she’s under Voldemort’s control," Professor Rackham interjected. "You have to consider that the Parkinsons are a pure-blood family. They’ve got some scholarly roots, after all." "But like Harry said, this Parkinson girl is suspicious enough," Headmistress Fitzgerald mused after a moment. "I lean toward another theory: she might’ve stepped up deliberately to be easily beaten by Miss Granger, all to clear herself of suspicion under Slytherin’s internal scrutiny." "Then why show off those skills at all?" Harry asked, confused. "Because a mix of truth and deception is more convincing, Harry," Veratia said with a light chuckle, nodding in agreement with Fitzgerald. "Maybe Slytherin’s self-policing got too close to Miss Parkinson, so she pulled this half-true act—possibly on Voldemort’s advice. From what you’ve told me about him, he does seem like… well, a rather peculiar mind." A peculiar mind? Harry thought it over. Fair point—who in their right mind makes that many Horcruxes? But was it really that Merope-born Tom behind this? In Harry’s memory, that younger, more effeminate Tom seemed sharper than the noseless Voldemort—not the type to orchestrate something this clumsy. If it were that Tom, he’d likely be lying low, stirring trouble subtly, not sending a Basilisk out for blatant attacks. "So I’d suggest you talk to Dumbledore," Veratia concluded. "As headmaster, he’s got some authority—enough to investigate a student, at least. You, Harry, are just a second-year. You don’t have that kind of power." "Got it, Veratia," Harry said, nodding in agreement. He paused, then added, "I came up with two plans the other day…" "What plans?" Veratia asked. "The first is to find the Chamber and take out the Basilisk," Harry explained. "The upside is it’d neutralize the threat to Hogwarts fast. The downside’s obvious—once Voldemort realizes the Basilisk’s dead, he’ll go back into hiding, plotting who-knows-what in the shadows." "The second is to lure him out—make the hidden Voldemort think Dumbledore’s left the school and lifted the lockdown. But the risk is, I’m worried he’ll use the Basilisk to wreak havoc." Veratia considered it for a moment, then looked up with a smile. "Why not combine the two?" "Huh?" Harry blinked. Could they really be merged? "I mean, start by tightening the net around Slytherin," Veratia said. "If you can find the Basilisk and kill it quickly, you could then trick Voldemort into thinking Dumbledore’s gone before he catches wind of it. You and the professors could wait at the Chamber’s entrance for whichever student he’s controlling to show up." "That’s… actually a solid idea," Harry said, nodding slowly. "The problem is, we don’t even know where the Chamber is. Maybe it’s just a vague legend, like Professor Binns says." "Professor Binns is a ghost who pretends to be clueless while knowing full well what’s what," Professor Rookwood suddenly cut in, his plump face brimming with disdain. "Mark my words, that old codger knows everything—he just doesn’t bother saying it because it’s too much hassle." "Seriously?" Harry asked skeptically. Rookwood huffed but didn’t elaborate. "Maybe Binns really doesn’t know," Professor Rackham said after a pause. "He’s got no reason to hide it—Voldemort’s not his cousin or anything. So, Harry, where else have you heard about the Chamber?" "They say it was opened fifty years ago," Harry replied. "They say?" Veratia frowned. "I don’t want hearsay—I want facts. Was the Chamber opened fifty years ago or not?" "I saw Professor Dumbledore’s memory in the Pensieve," Harry said quickly. "Fifty years ago, when Armando Dippet was headmaster, the Chamber was opened. The real culprit was Tom Riddle, and it led to the death of a student named Myrtle Elizabeth Warren. Afterward, he framed Hagrid, pinning it on the Acromantula he was raising at school." "I’ve got to point out," Rookwood interjected again, "even if it wasn’t Hagrid’s Acromantula that killed this Elizabeth Warren, that thing’s hardly something a student should be keeping at school. Good grief, has Hogwarts gone that wild? Letting students raise Acromantulas?" "What can I say, Professor?" Harry replied with a helpless shrug. "Hmm…" Veratia pondered for a moment before asking, "Do you know where they found Elizabeth Warren’s body?" "No idea," Harry said, spreading his hands. "That part wasn’t mentioned. And even if we knew, it might not help—Tom could’ve moved Myrtle’s body for all we know." "You should ask Dumbledore," Headmistress Fitzgerald suggested. "He was there when it happened. If he doesn’t know, finding the Chamber gets a lot harder—unless you can use the Resurrection Stone to summon Myrtle’s spirit. That’s about the only other option." "The Resurrection Stone," Veratia murmured softly. "Huh?" Harry scratched his head, then it hit him. Myrtle was dead, sure, but her ghost was still at Hogwarts! A grin spread across his face. Seeing his expression, Veratia asked, "What’s that look? Got an idea?" "Myrtle’s still around… well, not alive, obviously, but she’s here at Hogwarts!" Harry said rapidly. "I heard she came back as a ghost after dying and started haunting Olive Hornby, who’d teased her. Olive got the Ministry to intervene, so Myrtle ended up stuck at Hogwarts." Veratia’s expression turned faintly menacing. "Harry," she said, lashes lowering, "why didn’t you mention this sooner?" S~eaʀᴄh the nôᴠel Fire.nёt website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "I only just remembered…" Harry scratched the back of his head awkwardly. Truth be told, he’d completely forgotten Myrtle was a ghost now. Veratia huffed but didn’t press further, though her look clearly said, "If that’s the case, go ask the person who was there," she said, casting him a sidelong glance. "I’m sure she’d remember where she died. And that spot’s very likely the entrance to the Chamber." "I’ll go right now!" Harry said eagerly. After he left, Professor Rookwood sighed. "Looks like your little boyfriend’s as simple-minded as ever…" "He’s got me—that’s enough," Veratia said softly, staring at the firmly shut door. "That’s not necessarily a good thing," Professor Rackham noted. "It’ll make him rely on you more and more, unable to function without your wits…" "That’s exactly what I want," Veratia replied, her tone light and airy. --- Support me & read more advance & fast update chapter on my patreon: pat reon .com/windkaze