Wizards are human, too. And humans are fragile creatures, easily broken.
The human species is so frail that a single flash of green light, a single piece of iron propelled by gunpowder, can easily end its life.
Harry's mistake was not considering that the attacks could continue even without the Basilisk.
It was the same principle as a terrorist not being disarmed just because you take away their gun.
If that was the case, what Harry had to do now was clear. He had to catch the original culprit: the heir.
And Harry already had the clue he needed.
Several days had passed since Ron had fallen. During that time, Harry had not attended a single class at Hogwarts.
He spent his days holed up in the dormitory, quietly lost in thought.
His friends, knowing how close he had been to Ron, couldn't bring themselves to force him to attend class. Not even Hermione.
At most, the Weasley brothers—Percy, Fred, and George—would offer him words of comfort.
"Harry, we know how you feel. But we're his brothers, and we're enduring. Ron will definitely recover soon. So let's focus on the here and now. Okay?"
But Harry would only send them away with what looked like a bitter smile.
As they turned their backs, they couldn't see it. Harry's eyes were not filled with helplessness, but with the quiet patience of a predator lying in wait.
A few more days passed. The watchful eyes on Harry had diminished.
It had reached a point where no one would be surprised if Harry was not seen around Hogwarts for a day or two. It was exactly as he had hoped.
Only then did Harry begin to move.
It was around noon, while the students were still in class. Harry glanced at the empty beds for a moment before opening his magically enchanted bag.
Just in case someone was listening, Harry cast a light silencing charm around the room and whispered in Parseltongue.
*[Basilisk, you can come out now.]*
A moment later, with a series of hisses, a giant serpent slithered out of the bag. The Basilisk was not as massive as its original form, but for a snake, it was still considerably large.
The power of Transfiguration could turn a giant dragon into a small owl, but only a wizard of at least Professor Dumbledore's caliber could successfully cast such a spell through a creature's powerful magic resistance.
The best Harry could do was shrink it to the size of a large boa constrictor, about 2.5 meters long.
Harry, his own eyes of course closed, asked the Basilisk, *[Basilisk, how is your new life?]*
As if the memory of being beaten by Harry—no, by the dragon—had vanished, the Basilisk moved its gleaming scales as if to show them off and replied, *[It is wonderful, Master. This thing called turkey is especially delicious.]*
About ten minutes of violence and ten kilograms of food were all that was needed to erase a thousand years of loyalty to the House of Slytherin.
Harry nodded at the sight. *[Right, now that I think about it, do you have a name?]*
*[I am simply the Basilisk, Master.]*
*[Then we'll need something to call you... You said you were female, right?]*
Harry thought for a moment. *[In Hindu mythology, the serpent gods are called Naga. How about Nagini?]*
Nagini. Hearing a name that somehow sounded like it was destined to be killed by a sword, the Basilisk's body flinched.
No one present could have known, but considering the Basilisk was originally fated to die by being stabbed with that same sword, it was a remarkably appropriate name.
Nevertheless, feeling a sense of revulsion, the Basilisk coiled up and said, *[That name sounds ominous for some reason….]*
*[Really? Well, we can think about it later.]*
Harry's eyes gleamed. *[Basilisk, tell me everything you know about the Heir of Slytherin. His name, his appearance, everything you know.]*
The Basilisk flicked its tongue. *[I know almost nothing.]*
A look of confusion crossed Harry's face. *[You know nothing? How is that possible? You were following the Heir of Slytherin's orders, weren't you?]*
The Basilisk replied, *[It is the same as how I know nothing about you, Master.]*
*What's that supposed to mean?*
After a moment of thought, Harry finally understood.
That's right. The Basilisk, which could kill with a single glance, was a creature that could never look at its master's face.
The Basilisk added, *[Communication with the heir was always in the serpent tongue, so I do not even know my former master's voice properly.]*
Harry crossed his arms and pondered. Then how was he supposed to get information about the heir?
*[However,]* the Basilisk flicked its tongue again, *[I can tell you about the heir who opened the Chamber of Secrets last time, not this time.]*
Harry asked, *[The previous heir? Now that you mention it, I think I heard the Chamber of Secrets was opened once before.]*
The Basilisk said, *[The heir's name was Tom Marvolo Riddle. He introduced himself as Tom Marvolo Riddle.]*
Tom Marvolo Riddle. Harry rolled the name around on his tongue for a moment and soon realized it was incredibly familiar.
Feeling a chill run down his spine, Harry said, "Voldemort… He was the previous heir?"
Considering his history, it made sense. No, even before that.
If Voldemort was the Heir of Slytherin, it was almost certain that he had a hand in this incident as well.
Harry's expression soured.
Even though he had defeated Voldemort once before, Voldemort was clearly a formidable adversary that the current Harry could not hope to handle.
Of course, he didn't think that Voldemort, who had lost his body and was now wandering as a soul fragment, could orchestrate something of this scale at Hogwarts. He was probably using a subordinate.
But that could be even worse. An adult wizard might be a tougher opponent than a weakened Voldemort, who had a clear disadvantage against Harry.
Harry glanced at the Basilisk.
The Basilisk, with its gaze of instant death, was a clear asymmetrical advantage, but it wasn't as if there was no way to subdue it. A skilled adult wizard—Harry's standard, of course, was Aisen—could overcome it.
Furthermore, in the worst-case scenario, the Heir of Slytherin could seize control of the Basilisk during a battle. Slytherin wouldn't have been foolish enough to make it controllable by anyone who could simply speak Parseltongue.
The conclusion: if he were to face the heir directly, he would do his best, but there was a high probability he would lose the duel.
Harry thought for a moment, then nodded. "Losing the battle doesn't mean I can't win the war."
Then all that was left was to provoke the heir and draw him out. And the method for that was incredibly simple.
Harry asked the Basilisk, *[Basilisk. Where is the Chamber of Secrets?]*
***
The blond-haired man—no, Tom Riddle—arrived at the Chamber of Secrets as usual.
Now that the Basilisk was gone, there was no need for him to come all the way down here, but Tom Riddle had come down anyway, as he always did.
This place was a space for Tom Riddle alone.
Was it because he was a Horcrux created from the diary containing the memories of his youth?
To the arrogant Tom Riddle, this space was incredibly precious.
Hogwarts, a symbol of the magical world he belonged to, not the detestable Muggle world.
And within it, a space left solely for him by one of Hogwarts' founders.
The Chamber of Secrets was one of the few things that could fill the void in Tom Riddle's loveless heart.
In that sense, as he descended into the Chamber of Secrets, Tom Riddle couldn't help but be amazed.
Shattered snake statues. The statue of Slytherin split in half. Floor tiles that were more broken than intact.
Tom Riddle couldn't help but gape at the sight of the Chamber of Secrets, newly remodeled to look like a ruin.
And, a warning scrawled lavishly in red paint.
The elegant cursive, which looked as if it had been taught by a master despite being written in paint, said:
[YOUR BASILISK IS MINE NOW. SHE'S A RATHER CUTE CREATURE. - HARRY POTTER.]
*Hahaha.*
Riddle couldn't suppress the hollow laugh that escaped his frozen lips.
But contrary to his smiling mouth, his eyes were blazing with an explosive rage.
They say that when anger passes a certain threshold, it turns to laughter, and that was exactly what was happening to Tom Riddle.
Tom Riddle twisted his blond-haired head at a bizarre angle and whispered, "Harry Potter, I will remember that. Let's see if you have the skills to match your bravado."
Finally, Riddle clenched and unclenched his hand—no, not his hand—and thought.
It was about time to dispose of this puppet body.
***
The next day.
When you've cast the bait, you have to jiggle the line to get a bite, don't you?
Nothing would happen if he just stayed cooped up in the Gryffindor common room.
No matter how reckless the Heir of Slytherin was, Hogwarts was still under Dumbledore's protection. Invading a dormitory was nearly impossible.
Therefore, Harry left the Gryffindor common room and began to wander aimlessly.
He didn't know when his opponent would respond, but he wasn't intimidated. He wandered through the third-floor corridor where last year's adventure had taken place, through the secret passages Aisen had shown him, the ones the Weasley twins had tipped him off about, and so on.
As Harry explored the various nooks and crannies of Hogwarts for the first time in a while, he suddenly felt the air change.
A strange sensation that couldn't be described in words. An intuition honed through all sorts of hardships was hinting that danger was approaching.
*Thud, thud.*
Footsteps echoed from one end of the corridor.
Harry held his breath and drew his wand from his pocket.
Counting silently in his head, Harry timed it to "one, two," then whipped around, thrusting his wand forward.
"Cruc—huh?"
And there, Harry was so surprised by the sight of a completely unexpected person that he forgot to cast his spell.
"Haha, Harry. Are you surprised? Of course, you are. Who would have expected it?"
Standing there was a handsome, blond man. It was Lockhart, smiling with his trademark gleaming teeth.
Harry asked in a trembling voice, "The Heir of Slytherin… was you, Professor?"
Lockhart smiled, just like he always did, but with an alien quality to it. "Yes, Harry. It's me. It's always been me. At least, recently. Oh, your little scheme was quite adorable. To think you'd have the nerve to steal the Basilisk right from under my nose!"
With an exaggerated gesture and an imperious attitude that commanded an audience, Lockhart continued, "Harry, what can you do now that you've taken one Basilisk? What can you do to save your friends from death, Boy Who Lived!"
Lockhart, with madness gleaming in his eyes, came right up to Harry's face. So close that if Harry were to cast a spell from his wand, he wouldn't even be able to put up a shield.
Then, he pulled Harry's wand to his own throat. "Ah, of course, there is one thing you can do. You can kill me. But, can you, who claims to be on the side of justice, really do it? Can you make the simple calculation of trading my one life for the lives of dozens of students? If you're going to do it, do it now!"
Harry, who had been momentarily stunned by Lockhart's bravado, felt his composure return, and a cold calmness settled in his eyes.
"You're not Lockhart, are you?"
Instantly, the expression of the man who looked like a madman while baring his teeth returned to an emotionless mask.
"You're quick on the uptake, Harry Potter. My performance should have been perfect. What was the problem?"
***