Tom ignored Lockhart. To him, these academic-obsessed magical masters were harmless.
He looked up at the Basilisk, raising a hand to stroke its cheek as it leaned closer. He murmured ancient Runes in Parseltongue, "The language of snakes will always find aid from serpents!"
The Basilisk whipped its head around, baring sharp fangs that pierced Tom's palm. A sweet-smelling venom, brimming with potent life force, surged into his body.
Gradually, the polite, obedient glint in Tom's eyes faded, replaced by cold, predatory scarlet snake eyes.
The injection visibly weakened the Basilisk, while Tom grew more real, more solid.
"Thanks~" he said softly, resting his forehead against the Basilisk's drooping head, gently soothing it.
Tom had his own warmth, reserved solely for the serpents that would never betray him—a gift to these loyal creatures.
"Go rest and recover," he whispered, hissing softly. "The Patronus Charm's power might harm you. Don't stay too close right now."
The Basilisk nodded, slithering up toward the Slytherin statue's mouth. Halfway there, it glanced curiously at Lockhart, who was engrossed in his research notes, before slipping into the statue's cavern, ready to spring out if needed.
Or rather, it retreated to keep watch on the only wildcard in the room—Professor Gilderoy Lockhart.
Tom could never fully trust anyone.
Satisfied, he closed his eyes, recalling everything Lockhart had said about the Patronus Charm and his theories about "love's bonds creating social connections, shaping our reality."
Tom was an exceptionally clever wizard. At sixteen, his magical knowledge surpassed many Hogwarts professors, and he had his own judgments about magic.
He knew Lockhart wasn't spouting nonsense. This was a profound understanding of love and the Patronus Charm's power.
He believed it could work.
So…
Mother… you'll protect me, won't you?
He gently waved his wand, his gaze softening—a rare vulnerability. This was the softest part of his heart, the only soft part. As he walked his solitary magical path, he'd grown more afraid to touch this fragility.
Silver light surged.
Dazzling, dreamlike radiance burst from his wand tip, swirling around him like misty smoke, swaying gently, like a mother's embrace.
Tom's magical pursuits had always centered on life. In an instant, he saw through the essence of this spell.
This scene was one of life's creation.
It was the safest, most protected moment in a person's life—inside their mother's womb.
But this silver light wasn't the Patronus Charm's complete form.
It was merely the womb nurturing a Patronus.
Within that womb, life flourished. A powerful force was rising from his soul.
Oh… I see.
A Patronus was a spirit born from oneself, built on "love as the foundation of life," "life's vibrancy as its color," and "innate spiritual gifts to resist the evil forces of the world."
Yes, Lockhart was right.
The Patronus Charm could bring a sense of life's reality, but that was secondary. Tom felt the spell's power, his gentle expression turning into a cold smirk—self-protection, self-vibrancy, and spirituality. That was the true power of this life-giving spell.
It only touched on love's magical domain, incidentally involving the power of "loving oneself and allowing others to love you."
If no one loves you, love yourself. Simple as that.
With a flick of his wand, a silver figure emerged from the mist, rapidly solidifying into a coiled snake.
At that moment, a sigh came from nearby.
"You're still running away."
Turning, Tom saw Professor Lockhart.
Lockhart studied the snake Patronus, shaking his head slightly. "I know serpents always protect Parselmouths, but they can't give you social connection, Tom. You need to take that step, or you'll never find life's true reality."
Tom's patience wore thin. He sneered, about to retort, when Lockhart gestured for him to look. The silver Patronus was turning its head, radiating a subtle hostility toward him.
"We often hear Dark wizards can't cast a Patronus, or if they try, they face terrible backlash," Lockhart said gently, guiding him. "Trust me, I've felt the thrill of cruel power too—so exhilarating, like surrendering to it brings a life free of worries."
"But that's wrong. You'll find your heart resists that version of you. That's why the Patronus backfires. Simple enough."
He looked at Tom meaningfully. "We can wear masks in life, live hypocritically, but we can't do that to our own hearts. We need to feel our true selves, or life loses its reality."
"Tom, don't you have the courage to touch your own beauty?"
"Or…" His gaze deepened. "Have you never believed, or dared to admit, that you could find joy and beauty? Are you afraid of happiness, thinking it's not something you deserve? That joy is a sin?"
"If you truly believe that, you're being too cruel to yourself. Happiness is every life's right, as long as you don't reject it…"
Before he could finish, Tom roared, "Enough!"
A surge of powerful magic erupted, black mist shredding the Patronus that was about to attack him. Suppressed energy roiled, faint red lightning crackling within the mist.
"Suppressing your magic can turn you into an Obscurial. What happens when you suppress your happiness?" Lockhart's voice cut through, unfazed. He raised his hand. "Give me back my wand, Tom. You'll never feel life's reality like this."
With a wave of his wand, a strange force sent Lockhart flying backward, as if squeezed into a warped, narrow space. When he popped out, he was standing in the Chamber's corner.
That spell…
Lockhart had felt it before. The first time he met Snape, old Sev had used it on him.
Now, experiencing it from Tom, he finally recognized it—the Flying Curse.
Incredible.
Tom was a treasure trove, his memory brimming with powerful magical wisdom.
"Sorry, Professor," Tom said dryly, gripping the wand tightly and closing his eyes again. "Let me try again!"
He stood silently for a long time.
His wand moved gently.
"Expecto Patronum!"
Silver mist surged, radiant and dazzling. A vague figure began forming in the mist—no longer a snake.
"Haha!" Lockhart laughed, waving his arms excitedly. "That's it!"
But then Tom's eyes snapped open in panic. "No!"
He struggled to release the wand, but it was stuck to his palm. The swirling silver light clashed with some omnipresent, unique force.
At sixteen, Tom couldn't know that at forty-one, he'd placed a powerful curse on Hogwarts—a curse so unique it now clashed with him.
His only source of information was Ginny, but Lockhart's Memory Charm had stripped her of those details. And Ginny herself only knew scraps, secondhand at best.
Now, that powerful curse sensed his Patronus Charm's energy, violently disrupting the silver light he'd summoned.
"What is this?" he cried, terrified.
"A rebalancing," Lockhart answered seriously. "The curse is activating. I can feel it—it's filling in what was missing."
Tom's gaze turned icy. He realized he'd been played. He silently called for the Basilisk while feigning panic to stall the professor. "What's missing? What are you talking about?"
Lockhart smiled, glancing at the Basilisk slithering down from the statue but ignoring it. He gazed at the swelling sea of silver light, marveling. "The three elements of bloodline magic: 'self, protection, loneliness.' It never lacked 'self'—that's Voldemort. But it lacked 'protection.' You've filled that gap, Tom."
Tom's brilliant mind raced through Lockhart's words. He was so gifted in magic, he could find a solution—but despair crept in as his thoughts grew sluggish, hazy, confused.
"What's happening to me?" he asked, genuinely panicked, hoping for a hint from Lockhart.
"Know about Obscurials? Suppressing your magic until it consumes you," Lockhart said. "Dumbledore once said he doesn't welcome Dark magic's corruption, nor the positive emotional magic's pull. He's just himself."
The Basilisk reached the ground. Lockhart sighed, ending the lesson. "Simply put, Tom, you're about to burst with happiness!"
Burst with happiness?
What a ridiculous phrase.
But Tom felt it—endless joy and beauty flooding his soul. Emotions could shape magic, and magic could shape emotions.
He was…
Being overwhelmed by happiness!
In desperation, he looked up, only to find a red cloak somehow covering the ceiling. The Basilisk couldn't find him!
Worse still, a witch with a rabbit's head sang on a pyre, summoning earthen vines to bind the Basilisk. It struggled, but a massive, bloodstained burlap-clad giant pinned its head to the ground.
A fluffy golden monkey leapt onto the Basilisk's head, using its three hands to gouge out a massive eye.
It was over.
The Basilisk was helpless, Tom could tell.
"Who are you?" he asked, feeling his mind collapse, his body disintegrating. The silver light washed over him, transforming him, drawing out more silver mist.
An Obscurial?
It was an apt description.
He felt himself turning into a surging mass of magical energy.
"Me?" Lockhart flipped his hand, gripping a wand and aiming it elegantly at Tom. "I'm a life thief, you know~"
What?
Tom didn't hear clearly. His mind shattered, his body exploding into eerie silver plasma, swirling and sparking in the air.
"Obliviate!"
A black werewolf shadow emerged, lunging at the silver plasma but hesitating, like eyeing fried meat it craved but feared was too hot.
A silver horse appeared, neighing excitedly and charging at the plasma.
Seeing the horse's enthusiasm, the werewolf dove in for the first bite.
But before they could touch the wondrous memory, massive pale hands swatted them away. A giant specter loomed, scooping the memory into its chest.
"Awoo!" the werewolf howled in fury.
"Hiss!" the horse glared resentfully.
But both were grabbed by giant hands, stuffed into the specter's chest, and vanished.
Done!
Lockhart squinted, savoring the immense power he'd gained. It was unparalleled, exhilarating.
Of course, he didn't dare wield it yet, nor did he know how.
He knew one wizard who did—Gellert Grindelwald, who'd guided Dumbledore's nephew Credence in mastering Obscurial power. Maybe he'd seek him out.
But that was a bonus. If he couldn't control it, he'd discard the power, wasteful as that might be.
This venture had three major gains.
First, he'd effortlessly absorbed Tom's memories.
Dumbledore was right—he didn't want to alter his own soul to accommodate magic. That insight was key. Lockhart used a "fairy-tale romantic adventure" to make Tom alter his own soul and magic, shaping it into something Lockhart could easily consume.
Second, he'd broken free from the Defense Against the Dark Arts curse, gaining the spell's protection instead.
Third, he'd acquired Slytherin's Basilisk research notes and materials—priceless treasures now tucked into his ring.
A bountiful harvest.
Nice!
Lockhart sighed contentedly, watching the Memory Charm strip Tom's remnant soul back to black smoke, retreating into the diary Horcrux.
"Sorry, Tom~"
"Your uncle's a bad guy, you know~"
He felt no guilt. Voldemort wanted him dead, even sending a troublesome Death Eater like Yaxley after him. Lockhart had to gain power fast.
Voldemort's debts, Tom would pay.
Fair enough.
He picked up the diary Horcrux, calling his companions back to the red cloak and signaling the golden monkey to return the Basilisk's eye.
He had other plans for the Basilisk.
Next up: his plan for Voldemort.
Humming softly, he left the Chamber of Secrets with a spring in his step, leaving a bewildered Basilisk behind.
"Back to where it all began…"
The next day.
In the fairy-tale book's Hogwarts, in the Gryffindor girls' dorm.
"Ginny" picked up a girly pink quill, dipped it in ink, and wrote carefully in the diary.
"Professor Lockhart had us sorting his book manuscripts again. So annoying. I just want to spend more time with Harry, not deal with this hassle."
The words vanished from the diary's pages. Moments later, a string of letters appeared.
—"Is it about the book on teaching you the Patronus Charm? He loves showing off stuff like that!"