The basilisk crawled out of the wall!
The basilisk had its back to Lockhart and Cohen!
The basilisk stared at Lady Lorris!
Lady Lorris was going to die—
but she didn't.
Cohen witnessed everything—the basilisk's position was a bit off, causing it to miss Lady Lorris's gaze.
This place was very close to Myrtle's washroom, so the floor was always wet.
The moment the basilisk emerged, Lady Lorris happened to look down—this was very unusual for a cat, but normal for magic.
She saw the basilisk's eyes through the reflection in the water.
Then, the cat's body was rapidly stiffening, becoming almost stone-like in a second.
Since it had already turned to stone, the basilisk's stare could no longer harm it.
"That's the end of the attack, isn't it…" Lockhart was convincing himself—as long as Voldemort was satisfied, he wouldn't be forced to do anything more heinous—he didn't want to be a murderer, especially not in Dumbledore's school.
"Hiss—hiss… (Alright… we'll do it again next time, let's go back…)"
Lockhart recited the third phrase Voldemort had taught him to the basilisk, and quickly closed his eyes as the basilisk turned its head.
Cohen also closed his eyes, unsure if the basilisk's glare would have any effect on him, but Cohen didn't want to risk it now. If he turned to stone now… after twenty minutes, Cohen's identity would depend entirely on Lockhart's word.
Hearing the basilisk burrow into the wall, Cohen turned his gaze away and opened his eyes.
Lockhart seemed to be moving only now, and he wasn't sure if the basilisk had gone back either.
Although the target was a cat, and it wasn't dead, the attack was still a success—that's what Lockhart thought.
It was better that a cat was hurt than a person; if a cat was hurt, it was a prank; if a person was hurt, it was murder.
While most people were still eating in the Great Hall, Lockhart quickly wrote a line of words on the wall next to Mrs. Lawrence with paint:
[The Chamber of Secrets has been opened]
[Beware of those who oppose the Heir]
[Cohen]
"Is he really stupid or just pretending?"
Cohen wondered, somewhat bewildered, after Lockhart's hasty departure.
What kind of murderer would leave their name at the scene like that?
This wasn't just a smear campaign; it was an insult to Cohen's intelligence! The more
he thought about it, the angrier he became.
Lockhart had already humiliated him like this; Cohen would humiliate him back! No
sooner said than done—Cohen used a Vanishing Charm to erase his own name and then added another one.
[The Chamber of Secrets has been opened]
[Beware of those who oppose the Heir]
[Lockhart]
The infighting between villains is often this simple and straightforward; they're just trying to annoy their opponent, not actually kill them.
No one would really believe the murderer would write their own name on the wall, but rumors always have a sour effect—that's the effect Cohen wanted, and he suspected Voldemort's intentions were similar.
When Cohen returned to the Great Hall, he caught the students leaving—he blended in invisibly next to Harry and Ron, suddenly revealing himself after his invisibility wore off.
"Cohen?!" Harry exclaimed. "When did you get back? Weren't you going to see Professor Lockhart?"
"Lockhart was trying to kill Filch's cat," Cohen said. "He asked if I wanted to join him, but I figured as long as one person did it, it wouldn't matter, so I didn't become his accomplice—after all, Filch only has one cat." He
remained completely untainted; that's how the troublemakers at Hogwart operate.
"Trying to kill Filch's cat?" Ron asked in surprise. "Lockhart is really that nice?"
"Probably because the cat scratched his portrait," Cohen prompted. "But I don't want Filch to hold a grudge against me. I really don't know why he would want to talk to me…"
"Maybe it's because your deeds last year were quite remarkable," Hermione said. She wasn't as enthusiastic about Lockhart anymore—because in Lockhart's class, a crazed elf almost bit off Neville's ear, and the professor did nothing, just ran away.
"You're the first freshman to receive a Special Contribution Award for the School."
"And no prize money…" Cohen brought up old grievances, "My life is only worth a trophy I can't take home! I'll always remember Dumbledore owing me a thousand Galleons…"
They followed the group upstairs—just past the corridor where Mrs. Norris was.
"Ah!!!"
A Ravenclaw girl at the front of the group screamed—because of the bright red writing on the wall and Mrs. Norris's frozen "corpse."
"Excuse me!"
Professor Lockhart and the other professors heard the scream and cheerfully moved forward with the others.
His office was downstairs, but he followed the crowd up—the reason was obvious: he wanted to admire his work and see Cohen as the "murderer" being witnessed.
But his smile froze after passing Cohen in the crowd.
"Hello?"
Cohen waved to him in a small greeting, a cute smile on his face.
"…"
Lockhart's expression changed drastically—the color drained from his face.
Cohen hadn't arrived as requested in the letter. Wait… the students should have already seen the words on the wall, so why was Cohen so calm—even… cheerful—after seeing his own name?
Had he discovered it?!
Lockhart panicked, pushing aside other students blocking his way and scrambling to the front.
He saw that where Cohen's name should have been, "Lockhart" was written.
"Professor? This… you did this?" the girl who had let out the first scream asked Lockhart uncertainly.
"Definitely not!" Lockhart vehemently denied, but his face was as black as marble, as if the basilisk was staring at him, not Mrs. Lorris.
"What's going on? What happened? Make way!"
Filch huffed and puffed through the commotion of students, then he saw Mrs. Lorris.
She stumbled, as if she couldn't stand, clutching her face in terror.
"My cat! My cat!" Filch screamed incoherently. "What happened to Mrs. Lawrence?!"
His eyes darted around, searching for clues to the killer—then he saw the words on the wall, and the cursive signature on them.
"Lockhart…" Filch murmured, his lips barely moving.
He turned stiffly to look at Lockhart, who had retreated into the crowd.
Filch wanted to explode—but the other was a real professor, and he was just a dud—what could he do? Fight this professor hand-to-hand?
His confusion and resentment could only be conveyed through his eyes; Filch was on the verge of tears.
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(End of Chapter)