To celebrate the end of the attacks—and to calm the students—Dumbledore held a grand feast that evening.
At the banquet, Professor Lockhart, who had been missing for an entire night, finally reappeared dressed like a flamboyant peacock. When met with Harry and the others' disdainful stares, he claimed he'd spent the entire night preparing every exam paper for the remainder of the school year.
No one bothered responding to his self-advertising; everyone was too absorbed in the feast.
"I've got great news," a Gryffindor student whispered mysteriously to a friend.
"What news?"
"Snape's been petrified!"
His friend sighed heavily.
"I've got news too. Thanks to the Mooncalf dung, the mandrakes will mature in less than half a month."
"..."
Dumbledore took the opportunity to inform the students about the remaining arrangements for the school year.
"Except for Potions—which will be self-study until Professor Snape recovers—all other classes will resume as normal."
"I hope you make good use of the remaining time to revise, especially those preparing for O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s."
A wave of groans rose across the hall. For the first time in their lives, students actually missed the Basilisk.
After Ron's bragging and Harry's confirmation, everyone now knew the creature in the Chamber had indeed been a Basilisk. So in between their complaints, they discussed the monster with excitement and fear.
After the feast, students either reveled in the long-lost feeling of freedom (especially the Weasley twins) or passed around whatever information they had about Basilisks.
Naturally, they clustered around Harry and Ron, eager to hear more about the Chamber and the monster.
Ron's storytelling grew more and more dramatic. Harry, on the other hand, spoke honestly—he told them how Tver summoned a Dragon of fire that burned the massive Basilisk to nothing.
Unfortunately, very few believed him.
"Harry, did you even go into the Chamber? Ron's version sounds more real than yours!"
A young wizard stormed off after hearing Harry's account.
Students who had taken the time to research Basilisks understood how terrifying they were—long-lived, enormous, nearly impenetrable scales, a killing gaze, and venomous fangs.
How could some light, airy fire dragon possibly take it down so easily?
Harry just shrugged.
He and Ron had earned the school's Special Services Award. Although the canceled Quidditch match wouldn't be replayed, the two hundred points alone were enough to secure Gryffindor another House Cup.
And with Dumbledore clearing up his doubts and confirming he belonged in Gryffindor, Harry felt lighter than ever.
As for Parseltongue—well, that was simply because a part of Voldemort's power had transferred to him that night.
So now, even facing Snape, he felt like he could stay calm.
"Ten points from Gryffindor for making noise in the Great Hall."
Snape stood there, staring at Harry with a blank expression, though a faint, almost invisible smile touched his lips. Fresh out of the hospital, he was still pale, but it didn't stop him from materializing right in front of Harry.
That small smile made Harry's stomach drop.
He'd rather face ten Lockharts than face this Snape.
Even if Snape had saved them earlier.
And because of that, Harry held his tongue—even though the loud student had been a Hufflepuff.
"And for wandering the castle earlier, another twenty points."
Any lingering respect Harry had evaporated instantly.
"Professor," Hermione—now fully recovered—stepped forward to stand beside Harry. "I asked Professor Fawley. He said he wouldn't hold Harry accountable for those earlier rule violations."
Snape turned his gaze on Hermione, and this time there was unmistakable irritation in his eyes.
"So he didn't mention not holding you accountable for impersonating me, did he? Thirty points from Gryffindor."
With that, he turned his head away, refusing to look at any of them, and strode off in a fury.
Ron opened his mouth to protest, but Hermione quickly stopped him.
"This is way better than I expected! I thought we'd lose a hundred points," she said brightly.
Part relief for the small deduction, part joy at having fully recovered.
"But didn't you say Professor Fawley wouldn't hold it against us?" Harry said, baffled.
"I never said that," Hermione replied, flashing a mischievous smile. "I came straight to find you two right after leaving the hospital. I haven't even seen Professor Fawley yet."
Harry and Ron stared at her, eyes wide.
"You lied to Snape?!" they blurted out together.
Hermione tugged them both down, hissing for quiet.
"I heard from Madam Pomfrey that Professor Fawley's been pretty relaxed lately. He's probably in his office reading right now."
"So?" Harry asked.
"So we can go talk to him!" Hermione said excitedly.
"But… we did suspect the professor," Ron muttered, though he followed them anyway.
"That's exactly why we need to apologize," Hermione insisted. "We should own up to our mistake."
"You didn't see him that night… the professor was incredible," Ron rambled, repeating everything Harry had told him.
The more Hermione heard, the more thrilled she became.
She never doubted the professor's strength—in her mind, it didn't even have an upper limit.
But as they reached the third floor, they were met with a surprising scene.
Several stern men in dark uniforms stood outside Lockhart's office. When the trio appeared, the men instinctively shifted to block the door.
"Who are you?" Ron asked, emboldened by the fact they were inside Hogwarts.
"The Magical Law Enforcement Patrol," Gerard replied coolly after giving them a quick glance.
Ron sucked in a breath. Seeing the confusion on Harry and Hermione's faces, he whispered urgently:
"They usually handle routine enforcement... but guarding a door like this? There might be an Auror inside!"
"..."
Gerard's eye twitched. If Dawlish hadn't specifically ordered him to be polite to students, he'd have snapped at the boy already.
Even if they were guarding the door, you couldn't just announce it out loud!
Meanwhile, inside the office, Lockhart was far more distressed.
"What are you all doing here?" he demanded, staring wildly at Dawlish, and at the watching Tver and Dumbledore.
"To arrest you, of course," Marvolio said with a shrug.
"Arrest me?" A cold dread crept over Lockhart.
"Why? I'm a Knight of the Order of Merlin, Third Class!"
His voice cracked as he stumbled back a step. Dawlish noticed his hand slipping beneath his robes.
Reaching for his wand. Dawlish's lips curled into a disdainful smirk, letting him make his little move.
"Don't you know how the stories in your books really came about? I found the victims myself. I have more evidence than you have schemes rattling around in that head of yours."
"An elderly witch—after receiving treatment—told me she was the one who drove away the Bandon Banshee…"
Dawlish listed incident after incident, recounting each victim's account, driving Lockhart further back with every word.
"Tver, is this true?" Dumbledore asked with a tired sigh.
He had known Lockhart lacked real strength, but never imagined his former student could sink so low.
In some ways, the permanent damage caused by Memory Charms was no less cruel than dark magic.
"If Dawlish didn't have solid evidence, he wouldn't have come storming in like this."
Tver watched the scene unfold with perfect calm.
...
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