The next day, rumors buzzed through the castle: Ted had somehow vanquished the Bloody Baron!
But soon, a counter-rumor spread—ghosts couldn't actually die again. Some students speculated Ted had simply dismissed whatever the Bloody Baron had said.
Still, a few clever first-years stood up in his defense, explaining that what Ted had done wasn't killing—it was helping the ghost move on to the after life. The Baron had finally let go of his regrets and passed on to the afterlife.
Ted shrugged, muttering, "That's right. Guess if you've never passed your first magical theory class, you wouldn't understand."
And so, the gossip transformed again: Ted had talked the Bloody Baron into the afterlife!
Unbelievable.
Soon, whispers spread among the castle's ghostly residents. A little wizard at Hogwarts who could talk spirits into the beyond? It sounded like a legend in the making.
Normally, Hogwarts had its fair share of ghosts—hundreds of years of magical history left its mark.
But now, even spirits from outside the castle were floating in to catch a glimpse of Ted.
They'd hover through walls or peek into corridors, just to get a look at him. Some watched from chandeliers. Others haunted the Great Hall rafters.
Ted found himself avoiding the usual hideouts like the old potions classroom. If a ghost spotted him experimenting on enchanted mice again, he was sure to end up on the front page of the Daily Prophet.
It was becoming a problem. Hogwarts was a school for witches and wizards, not an afterlife convention.
Eventually, Professor McGonagall brought the issue to Dumbledore.
In the headmaster's office, Dumbledore peered at her thoughtfully. "Minerva, what do you make of young Ted?"
McGonagall frowned, clearly exasperated. "Albus, I didn't come here to talk about Ted. The ghost issue is getting out of hand!"
Dumbledore raised a hand gently. "I understand, and I don't blame him for any of this. I'm just curious—how is he doing in your class?"
McGonagall hesitated, then sighed. "Well... he can be mischievous, yes. But he's intelligent. Enthusiastic about learning. And the students trust him. Even some of the older ones followed his lead organizing that Easter event."
Dumbledore nodded, eyes twinkling behind his spectacles. "Good. Then leave this matter to me. I'll speak with the spirits. I believe I understand what happened."
Ted had told Dumbledore everything just before Christmas—about Helena Ravenclaw, the Grey Lady, and how she had moved on.
Now it made sense. Helena found peace, and when the Bloody Baron learned of it, he let go too. Ted had helped—no doubt—but he wasn't the reason. He couldn't force ghosts to move on. Their lingering came from unresolved obsessions.
The ghosts hoping for a shortcut were wasting their time.
...
Over in Gryffindor Tower, students were suddenly very invested in Nearly Headless Nick.
After all, Ravenclaw and Slytherin had both lost their house ghosts, and the Fat Friar from Hufflepuff was currently petrified. That left only Nick.
They had to protect him!
Nick was baffled by the sudden affection but flattered. He regaled them with tales from his life—his time as a magical advisor to a Muggle king, how grand the court life had been, and even strange customs like relieving oneself wherever one pleased.
The students were wide-eyed.
Then came the story of his death.
Nick had once tried to treat a noblewoman's toothache.
Unfortunately, he was slightly drunk and miscast a teething charm. The poor girl transformed into something resembling a large rodent.
Traumatized, she took her own life.
By the time Nick sobered up, he was in a dungeon, wand confiscated.
During the execution, the headsman had also been drunk—and forgot to sharpen the axe.
It took over a dozen swings to nearly decapitate him. Unfortunately, he was already dead before the headsman managed to fully sever his head, leaving behind a stubborn shred of flesh.
Thus, Nearly Headless Nick.
The students were horrified and fascinated.
"Tell us another one!" someone cried.
"Is it true court ladies didn't wear underthings back then?" another asked.
They giggled. It was far more engaging than History of Magic with Professor Binns.
Then a sharp scream pierced the air, snapping everyone back to reality.
The Gryffindors exchanged looks, then bolted toward the sound.
A young boy—Colin Creevey, first-year—lay on the floor, his camera clutched in his shaking hands.
Not far off stood a statue of a girl with braided hair.
"It's Lavender Brown!"
"Merlin's beard—the Chamber's been opened again!"
"The monster—it's attacking students!"
Panic spread like wildfire.
Hogwarts had no secrets for long, within ten minutes, the entire castle knew.
Lavender Brown was petrified. She had turned toward the wall, as if trying to hold something, then pressed her forehead against the stone and leaned on it for support...
But thanks to the chaos caused by the Gryffindor students, the entire scene was ruined.
Forget about footprints—no one even knew what Lavender had been holding. Whatever it was must've fallen and gotten kicked aside in the commotion.
Now true panic set in.
This was the third victim—not counting the Fat Friar, who as a ghost, was a different case entirely.
First Clara from Ravenclaw, then Justin from Hufflepuff, and now Lavender from Gryffindor. Who would be next? Why were there no Slytherin victims?
Whispers and rumors ran rampant.
Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets. Slytherin's heir. Slytherin's monster.
Was this some kind of twisted purge?
Suspicion turned toward Slytherin House.
For once, the other three houses stood united—in wariness, if not in friendship.
Tension crackled in the air at mealtimes.
The Great Hall became a battleground of glares. Slytherins didn't back down, of course. They were used to being disliked, and now they stood their ground with defensive pride.
Older students from all four houses debated who might be the Heir of Slytherin.
Even the Slytherins argued amongst themselves, each claiming superiority while secretly hoping they weren't the heir.
Ted frowned.
He didn't remember Lavender getting petrified in the original timeline.
The story was changing, and unpredictably.
He also recalled Hermione had been petrified right after she figured out what the monster in the Chamber was.
Luckily, she'd carried a mirror with her to check corners.
That mirror saved her from a direct glance.
Ted gathered his friends at their secret hideout.
"Friends, I won't sugarcoat it—the castle is facing a serious threat. We're all at risk now."
Everyone nodded grimly. Jerry, wide-eyed, pulled his scarf tighter around his neck. No more late-night swims for him.
Jerry: I, Jerry, know when to stay low!
Suddenly, Harley's face turned pale. "Lavender... I saw her earlier, in the dorm. She was complaining about a breakout—some acne on her cheek. I thought she was just using your spot treatment, Ted. But..." She lowered her head, visibly shaken.
"Harley, when exactly did you see her?" Ted asked.
"An hour and a half before she was found."
Too close. Way too close.
Ted's stomach twisted. If the basilisk could strike from anywhere through the plumbing or walls, then nowhere was truly safe.
He'd been keeping a close watch on Ginny. Parker, his psicrystal, had been tailing her constantly—except for the girls' dormitories and bathrooms of course.
So far, Ginny had acted completely normal. Physically and emotionally.
That worried him more.
In the original story, Ginny eventually realized something was wrong and tossed the diary into a toilet. Harry found it, and then Ginny, anxious and guilt-ridden, stole it back.
Ted had assumed the diary would just end up back in her possession again.
But now? He had no idea where it was.
He pulled out several enchanted bronze-and-silver goggles, tinged a faint tea color.
"Here, everyone take one."
He slipped a pair on. They shimmered with enchantments—sleek, metallic frames engraved with subtle runes. They looked oddly futuristic for a magical artifact.
"Whoa~ these are so cool!" Jerry's eyes sparkled like stars.
"Wow..." Neville and Harley echoed, holding theirs gently like priceless relics.
Compared to the usual clunky magical tools, these goggles were stunning—refined, elegant, and practical.
"So this is what you were working on?" Hermione adjusted her pair, raising an eyebrow. "Ted, do you know something you're not telling us?"
Why is she always so sharp?
Ted gave a sheepish smile. "Just a few guesses."
"Guesses? About the Chamber of Secrets?"
He nodded. "More about the creature hiding inside it."
"You know what it is?" Harley asked quickly, and everyone leaned in.
"Not exactly," Ted replied. "But I suspect it can petrify people just by being seen—or seeing you."
He didn't want to say the word "basilisk." There'd be too many questions he couldn't answer.
"Like... through eye contact?"
"Exactly. Clara's enchanted glasses were shattered. Justin may have seen it through the Fat Friar. And Lavender... she was holding something when she turned."
"A mirror!" Harley gasped. "She must've seen the creature's reflection!"
Ted nodded. "So, I designed these goggles. They'll protect your eyes and help you see around corners or behind you. That's not all—they have other features too. Let me show you..."
And just like that, show-and-tell began.
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Word count: 1504
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